


rebuild all your ruins

by DestielDicksAreMyKink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielDicksAreMyKink/pseuds/DestielDicksAreMyKink
Summary: “I know why,” Cas finally said. “You’re afraid to take anything that might make you happy. You don’t think you deserve anything good, and if you have it, it’s going to get snatched from your grip and destroyed before your eyes, as it has so many times before.”Something burned in the back of Dean’s throat. “Stop.”------Dean and a newly human Castiel head to Washington to deal with what looks like a straightforward salt and burn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I've been rewatching Supernatural and every time I see newly human Cas, I always end up thinking about how tough it must be for Dean, having his angel as a vulnerable, adorable, scruffy-faced human. And TA-DA, this fic happened. 
> 
> It doesn't really matter too much when this fic takes place. Sometime after Bobby died and they found the bunker, because both are mentioned. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

“The next time that Sam tells us it’s gonna be an easy hunt, remind me to tell him to shove it,” Dean grumbled, shifting on the leather of his seat as he tried to find the least painful position to hold the wheel, his bruised ribs protesting to the movement. “When was the last time anything was easy for us?”

Cas hummed thoughtfully from the passenger side. “That vampire in Indiana last month didn’t give us much trouble. And that lamia that we-”

“It was a rhetorical question,” Dean interrupted, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re supposed to just let me whine a little after I get tossed around by not one, but  _ two _ werewolves.”

“Well, you did ask,” Cas replied, and Dean could see that he was smiling slightly. Teasing him, then. 

He was glad that Cas felt well enough to joke but Dean wasn’t really in the mood. His ribs were aching and his right knee was still sore from hauling ass away from the pair of werewolves. And it definitely hadn’t improved his mood to watch Cas,  _ human, terrifyingly fragile Cas _ , get thrown around and pummeled by Bitey and Scratchy. 

He knew that Cas could handle himself; the guy had been a warrior of heaven and fighting battles for longer than Dean wanted to think about, and slipped into his hunter role with relative ease. There was no denying that they worked well together and Dean felt safe knowing that he had his back. 

But, it didn’t stop his heart from seizing in his chest every time that Cas got thrown into a wall, the realization that one bad landing, one rough crash, and  _ that was it.  _

He’d gone through this with Sam when he’d started hunting with him and dad, so many years ago that the memories were hazy. But he could still remember the fear, too busy keeping an eye on Sam to watch his own ass, freezing in terror every time he got knocked down just to make sure he got back up. It never really went away but he’d learned to manage it, just like he would with Cas. 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice snapped him from his thoughts and he glanced over, following Cas’ gaze to where his hands were clenched around the wheel, knuckles white. 

He loosened his grip, not saying anything. His gaze was firmly focused on the road even as he felt Cas’ blue eyes moving to his face. Dean hated when he looked at him like that, like he was peering right into his head and over all of his carefully placed walls. 

The sound of his cell phone broke the silence and he dug it out of his jeans thankfully, glad for an excuse to ignore the stifling tension that had been rising in the car.

He glanced at the screen before answering. “Hey.”

“How do you guys feel about not coming home quite yet?” Sam asked without bothering to say hello first. 

Dean sighed and Cas looked over curiously. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.” He hit the button then passed the phone over. “Go ahead.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said and Dean scoffed to himself; of course  _ he  _ got a hello. “So, I’ve got something in northwestern Washington, if you guys are up for it.”

They exchanged a look and Dean just shrugged. Of course they’d take it, and they were near the Idaho border so it was probably technically a shorter drive there than back to the bunker. And the sooner he got out of the car, the better. 

“Lay it on us,” he told Sam, seeing Cas nod in agreement. 

“Okay, so, there’ve been some deaths at this house that’s been around since the late eighteen hundreds. It’s stayed in the same family since it was built and the last owner passed away with no living relatives. It was abandoned for a while until recently purchased by Diana Walsh, who is in the process of remodeling it to turn it into a bed and breakfast.” There was a slight pause, Sam no doubt clicking around on his laptop for the right article. “The crew has only been in for two weeks and three of them have died under suspicious circumstances. They’re officially writing them off as freak accidents, but that’s just because they have no idea what else it could be.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Dean asked, squinting as the sun reflected right into his eyes off of a passing car. “Some spirit isn’t happy that its home’s getting ripped apart?”

Something shuffled on Sam’s end. “Sounds like a safe guess to me. Should be an easy salt and burn.”

Dean gave Cas a disbelieving look and he was obviously holding back a smile. The sun was lighting up strands of his dark hair, shining around his head like a halo, and Dean swallowed heavily, looking back at the road. 

“I’ll email both of you the details,” Sam continued. “Dean, I’m texting you the city.”

On cue, his phone dinged and he saw Cas opening up his GPS. A second later, he showed him the screen **,** telling him that their trip was going to be at least fourteen hours. They’d have to stop somewhere for the night then.

“We’re not gonna get there until tomorrow sometime,” he told Sam. “See if you can find anything else that might help.”

“Okay, talk to you tomorrow.” Silence settled over the car as he hung up and Cas handed him his phone back. 

That was the thing about the job; just when you thought you were done for a minute, just when you thought you got to drag yourself back home and lick your wounds, something with teeth and claws rose up and pulled you right back in. When you were exhausted and more than done, you had to dig deep down and find a shred of something to keep you going because if you didn’t, people died. 

And he hated seeing Cas run ragged like this. It was times like this that a deep, dark bitterness rose up in him, that there was no rest in sight for him. He’d thrown his lot in with the Winchester boys and this is what he got for it. Dingy motel rooms, endless hours in a cramped car, fighting for his life, all on top of the added bonus of being human. 

Dean made a habit of trying not to think about the things that Cas had sacrificed for them.

“Well, I guess we’re not going this way anymore,” he muttered, taking a sharp turn off the road as the sun slowly started to set.

 

————

 

They didn’t stop for the day until about two in the morning, when Dean could feel that he was on the brink of passing out from exhaustion. He and Cas wouldn’t be much help to anyone if he crashed and killed them.

After a quick discussion, they’d decided to save the money and park for the night to catch a few hours of sleep. Dean was fine with that — he’d slept in Baby more times than he could count — but there was always something uncomfortably intimate about having Cas in the backseat.

The noises he made while he slept, the pattern of his breathing, they were all so different from Sam and impossible to ignore when they were only a few feet away from each other, in such a confined space. Dean was still getting used to the fact that Cas even slept, occasionally waking up and unable to resist watching him, soaking in the unfamiliar peaceful expression on Cas’ face, the way his body curled under the blankets.

Dean drifted onto a little side road, pulling into a grassy field and parking, listening to the purr of the engine for a second before turning her off. Silently, he and Cas climbed out, stretching their legs. 

“We should get there late in the morning,” Dean told him, wincing at his sore knee twinged. “We’ll grab a room then head out, check out the bodies and interview the witnesses. Hopefully, with Sam reading up on the history, we can figure out who we need to dig up and get this done quickly.”

“You could let me drive the rest of the way,” Cas said and Dean knew that he was watching him shake off the stiffness of his joints and tenderly test his sore ribs, with that disapproving crease between his brows. 

Dean was shaking his head before he even finished his sentence. “No way. You hardly know how to drive, I’m not letting you get us in an accident or hurt Baby.”

The way that Cas smoothed a hand along the top of her implied that he was distressed Dean would even suggest such a thing. “I’m a fine driver, you’re just a nervous, controlling passenger.”

The truth was, Cas was right; he wasn’t half bad, all things considered. But seeing him in the driver’s seat, slender fingers wrapped around the wheel, sleeves slipping down to reveal the delicate looking bones of his wrists, calm and in control... it did something twisty to Dean’s guts, something he liked so much that it swung right around and swerved into hatred territory. 

After the first time, he had no intention of putting himself through that torture again.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m driving, end of discussion.” He hadn’t meant to sound so snappy but there it was. 

Cas’ shoulders hunched in slightly as he turned so he was facing away from Dean, looking at the black, twisted fingers of the tree branches reaching out over the field. 

Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, Dean bit down the words rising in the back of his throat, wandering away instead to some physical space between them. Being so close to him for such a long period of time always seemed to put him on edge, like he needed to punch something really hard and work off some of the jittery energy coursing around in his blood.

What he really needed _ ,  _ he thought wryly, was a good bottle of whiskey.

But he settled for pacing the length of the field, trying to warm up his sore muscles before turning in, simultaneously dreading and anxiously eager to share the car with Cas.

He’d always had an unhealthy dose of masochism in him though. 

When he made his way back after a few minutes, Cas was leaning against Baby, head tilted up to watch the stars, the curve of his throat bared to the night sky. 

“Alright, buddy,” Dean said, eyes firmly fixed on the mud caking the toes of his boots. “I’m gonna try to get my four hours and then we can get back on the road.”

He heard Cas take a deep breath, like he was savoring the crisp air, grounding himself.

Not waiting for a response, Dean let himself into the front, laying down and balling his jacket behind his head. He closed his eyes as he heard Cas opening the back door and slipping in, leather creaking and fabric rustling as he got comfortable.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas said, that smoke and gravel voice of his tinged with sleepiness, but raising goosebumps along Dean’s skin all the same. 

“‘Night,” he mumbled back, willing his heart rate to slow down.

He fell asleep, matching the rhythm of his breathing to Cas’ and imagining that he could feel the heat of his body creeping over the seat between them and warming him down to his bones. 

 

—————-

 

When Dean woke up almost exactly four hours later, his mouth was dry and slow, hot arousal dripping down his spine like honey. 

His dreams had been saturated with warm skin and the scent of fresh, clean rain on dry, parched earth, filling his nose and coating the back of his throat. He could still feel echoes of lightning in his veins, sharp and electric to the point of being almost painful. 

Shifting onto his back, he threw his arm over his eyes and gave himself a minute to get composed, thinking about anything other than the ache straining at the front of his jeans. 

Eventually, he pushed himself into a sitting position, head resting against the cold glass of the passenger window. The sun was just starting to peek through the trees, burning off the lingering wisps of mist creeping along the grassy field. Only once he felt more in control, did he allow himself to peek into the backseat.

Cas was still sleeping, on his side facing Dean, one arm folded under his head, showing off the curve of his bicep. His face was softer than it ever was when he was awake, free of stress and the lines of worry usual making their home in the corners of his eyes and creasing on his forehead. 

As Dean watched, he let out a soft huff in his sleep, lips parting slightly. A gentle wave of affection washed over him and he had to grip the edge of the seat to stop himself from reaching over and brushing his fingers along the curve of Cas’ cheekbone, where his dark eyelashes were casting slender shadows. 

He was so achingly human like this and it fucked with Dean’s head. He’d gotten so good over the years at tamping down the need and the longing, accepting that Cas was an unattainable dream, an almighty angel of the lord. And while there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that he was still too good, too pure for him even as a human, it had gotten harder to cling to, his life raft slowly sinking. Seeing him like this, soft and vulnerable, flesh and blood, two-day scruff coating his jaw, shirt rumpled from sleep — the leather creaked beneath Dean’s fingers as his grip tightened. 

“Hey,” he said, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. “Cas, buddy, we gotta get going.” 

He mumbled something too low for Dean to make out what it was but there was no mistaking the disgruntled tone, and he bit back a smile. Cas sure was a grumpy bastard in the mornings, his body not yet accustomed to running off of a few hours of sleep like Dean’s. 

Reaching over the seat, he patted Cas on the shoulder, careful to not brush the bare skin where his collar slouched slightly. “C’mon, you can sleep on the drive but I gotta get us going. Up and at ‘em.” 

“I don’t even know what that means,” Cas grumbled, voice rougher than usual with sleep. He shuffled upright, squinting at Dean irritably, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it even more than it already was.

“It means, get your ass up so I can get us on the road,” Dean responded cheerfully, tossing him a grin when he scowled. 

Cas stretched awkwardly in the cramped space, shirt lifting slightly to reveal a strip of skin and Dean busied himself with shrugging his jacket on. 

They were back on the road within ten minutes, Cas typing out a text with bleary eyes to update Sam. Over the course of just a minute or two, he yawned at least three times.

“C’mon, go back to sleep for a while. We’ve still got hours to go and once we do get there, we’re gonna have to head right back out.”

Cas shook his head. “I’m fine, I just need some coffee.”

Twisting in his seat, Dean gave him a look. “You don’t even like coffee.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, narrowing his blue eyes. “I always drink it in the mornings with you and Sam.”

“Yeah, and you always wrinkle your nose and hold your breath when you drink it,” Dean pointed out with a smirk, seeing surprise cross Cas’ face. “Your superior angel pallet is probably too refined to appreciate a nice cup of sludgy coffee.”

Cas visibly shuddered, disgust curling his lips down in the corners. “It does taste like dirt,” he admitted reluctantly. “But this has nothing to do with my now non-existent angel palette, my human one finds it repulsive, though it is… bracing.”

Laughing softly, Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to drink it if you hate it so much.”

Cas shrugged, the movement strangely vulnerable. “It seems like an important human ritual in the morning. And it does help with the- the  _ exhaustion _ .” He said the word like it was a shameful thing. 

It made sense. He wouldn’t be used the running out of energy and needing to refuel, his body failing him when he ran it too rough. Those things didn’t exist to an angel and it probably felt like a smack in the face every time he battled with it, a reminder of what he’d lost.

“Listen, buddy,” he started a little awkwardly. “I’m not going to pretend to know how tough this is for you. But I do know that it’s going to take time. And trying to run on four hours of sleep, forcing yourself to swallow down cups of caffeine just to do that… you don’t wanna try to be like me. I’m not even sure how I function most days and you shouldn’t aim for that, okay?”

He turned to meet Cas’ eyes, hating the despair he’d heard in his voice. “Get some rest and try to squeeze out a few more hours of sleep. You’ve got nothing to prove, least of all to me.”

After a second, he had to turn back to the road, so he wasn’t expecting the light pressure of Cas’ fingers against the back of his hand that was resting on the seat between them. Though the touch was there and gone in a second, he stiffened like he’d been shocked and he tasted the memory of lightning from his dream, teeth aching in his jaw.

“Okay, Dean,” he said softly, “I’ll try and get some sleep.”

“Good,” Dean replied gruffly, reaching out to turn the music up just enough to prevent any tense silences that decided to pop up. 

 

———

 

“Cas, you here?” Dean called, closing the door of their room behind him.

There was no response but he could hear the shower going in the bathroom. He shrugged out of his jacket, loosening his tie and setting the stack of files he’d gotten from the station on the small table next to a bag of what smelled like burgers and fries.

They’d pulled into the small city around ten, the main street lined with antique shops and restaurants, carefully maintained historic brick buildings looming over the sidewalks. 

Within the city, there was only a bed and breakfast and an inn on the east side. Dean hadn’t wanted to stay in a neighboring city, and bed and breakfasts were all frills and overbearing owners poking their heads into rooms and giving out unwanted suggestions, so the inn it was. They’d managed to get a double, though he’d had to pay more for one on the bottom, because apparently, that was a thing.

Cas had managed to sleep for a good chunk of the drive, waking up just as they were passing by Seattle. Not a city with good memories for Dean. And the traffic… they had been heading away from the city, coasting right through, but the sight of the other side of the freeway, clogged with cars that were hardly moving, sent a shudder through him. The poor bastards who lived here, he didn’t know how they did it.

From there, they’d unpacked, had a quick call with Sam who was still digging into the history of the house, then changed into their fed suits and gone separate ways. Dean went to talk with the sheriff and coroner, while Cas headed over to interview the work crew who were at a different site for the day. 

He had just sat down to toe off his shoes when the bathroom door opened and Cas emerged in a cloud of steam, the light scent of fresh soap following him. He thankfully had his jeans on, but that was it, and he froze as he came out, surprise lighting up his eyes.

“Sorry,” Cas said, a drop of water rolling down his neck and onto his chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Very carefully, Dean turned back to his shoes, focusing on the glossy shine and the tug of the laces as he undid them; anything but the dip of Cas’ hip bones over the edge of his jeans, or the warm, pink flush spread across his chest and up his neck. His hands shook, the slightest of trembles.

“No worries,” he responded, fighting to make each word come out casually. “I just got back.”

Cas nodded, crossing over to his bed to grab his shirt, a worn red flannel that Dean was pretty sure he’d given to him. It had been a struggle to get him to give up that suit and trench coat but once he did, he’d developed a fondness for soft flannels and comfy t-shirts, refusing to shop anywhere but thrift stores because brand new clothes were “too stiff”. 

Seeing him in regular clothes still hit Dean like a punch to the throat sometimes — Cas’ collarbone exposed when he’d leave the top couple of buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. 

“I grabbed food.” Cas gestured to the bag on the table as he did up his shirt slowly, fumbling a bit with the buttons. “The lady at the front desk recommended a diner a few streets down when I asked.”

“Great, I’m starving,” Dean said, waiting for Cas to finish dressing before he got up and rifled through his bag.

A minute later and he had changed out of his uncomfortable suit, joining Cas at the table. He flipped open the files, glancing over the reports as Cas sorted through their food, handing over a box that Dean opened to reveal a bacon cheeseburger and golden fries.

“Come to daddy,” he muttered, taking a huge bite of his burger and groaning. Still holding it with one hand, he dug his phone out of his pocket with the other. “I’m gonna call Sam so we can go over everything. You good with that?”

Cas nodded, busy pulling the lettuce off of his own burger. Every time he ordered one, he refused to ask for any changes — he insisted that doing so would bother the cooks — then picked the lettuce off carefully himself. According to him, it tasted like water and green, but not the good kind of green, whatever that meant.

Sam picked up on the second ring and Dean immediately put him on speaker. “Hey, how’d it go with the sheriff?”

“Well, she’s definitely a bit freaked out by all the death going on in that house,” Dean responded, taking bites of fries between words. “She’s not stupid, she knows something’s going on, just doesn’t know what.”

He tugged the folders closer, glancing over the pictures of the three victims as Cas peered across the table, eyes narrowed. 

“We’ve got Tom Herring, the first victim who was strangled to death by an electrical cord. Then Aaron Matthews, whose power saw turned itself on despite the safety switch, and somehow ended up embedded in his neck.” Dean winced, flipping to the next file quickly, not wanting to see some guy’s barely attached head while he was chomping into his burger. “And finally, Juan Guerrero. This lucky bastard fell over the balcony at the top of the stairs, right onto a pile of pipes they’d been taking out of the walls. Got one right through his head, kabob style.”

Cas just looked confused, head cocked slightly, brows furrowed.

“A kabob,” Dean explained. “You know, one of those skewer things that people use to cook meat-“

“I know what it is, but I don’t understand how this man’s murder is related to a Middle Eastern dish.”

Sam’s muffled laughter came through the speaker. 

“Oh, c’mon, because the pole went through his-“ Dean gestured at his head but Cas just continued to stare at him blankly. Giving up, he waved dismissively. “Never mind. Point is, three messy, weird as hell deaths that have everyone scratching their heads.”

“Yeah, ouch,” Sam agreed. “That’s a pretty serious string of bad luck.”

Dean snorted around a mouthful of burger. “Yeah, to say the sheriff was relieved to see me would be an understatement. Especially with the weird accounts from the other workers.”

Taking that as his cue to jump in, Cas leaned over the table slightly to get closer to the phone. “I spoke with the workers today and two of them reluctantly admitted to seeing a young woman in the house. One said he saw her at the top of the stairs just after Juan fell, and the other told me that he saw her on the first day they started renovating. According to him, she demanded that he leave, then vanished.” 

Cas’ people skills had improved considerably over the years, even more so now that he’d been hunting regularly, so Dean usually sent him to the witnesses while he dealt with the authorities. While Cas didn’t have Sam’s puppy dog eyes, his calm demeanor, lack of skepticism, and complete focus, never failed to make people open up to him.

“She’s in the witness reports, too,” Dean confirmed, giving Cas an approving nod. “Though they just wrote her off as a squatter who had been living there since it was previously abandoned. Sounds like she might be our angry spirit though.”

“Well, that definitely lines up with what I found out,” Sam said. “Looks like in nineteen thirty-two, a young woman named Rosie Clements, was presumed to have been murdered in the house. They never found her body but they found a lot of blood and a knife in the pond out back. It looks like her fiancé was the main suspect, though he was never charged.”

Yep, that would definitely do it.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman murdered,” Dean muttered.

Cas actually smiled at that one — a tiny thing, but it still counted.

“So, where do we find her bones?” 

Sam sighed, static crackling. “That’s going to be an issue, since the body was never found. Best guess? In the house or on the property somewhere.” 

Exchanging a look with Cas, Dean bit back a groan of exasperation. Easy salt and burn, his ass.

“I’ll keep digging,” his brother said apologetically. “See if I can find any clue of where her body might be.”

Dean nodded, before turning his gaze to Cas. “Did the work crew say if they’d be at the house tomorrow?”

He considered for a second, leaning back in his seat. “I didn’t ask but the first man I spoke with told me he was relieved they’d be at their current site for the next few days.”

“Great. Sam, we’re going to crash and get some sleep. It sounds like the house will be empty for a day or two so we’ll head over in the morning and see what we can find.”

If the work crew was heading back in the morning, he’d make them go over and deal with it tonight. But with no one’s life immediately on the line, they could take one night to get some sleep and head out early in the morning. Dean preferred to not stumble around in the dark, if he could avoid it, which wasn’t very often in this line of work. Grave digging and demon exorcisms weren’t exactly meant for a middle of the day, sunshine and blue skies sort of setting.

“Okay, I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

They ended the call and Dean huffed, pushing away his empty food container and running a hand down his face wearily. He heard Cas get up from the table, styrofoam crackling as he tidied up. 

Some days, he felt like he was getting too old for this. Most days, if he was feeling honest. Every time he got knocked down in the dirt, it got a little harder to get back up, took a little longer to bounce back. When he was younger, he hadn’t thought that he’d live long enough to have to deal with getting old, but here he was, groaning over creaky knees and the thought of having to dig multiple holes.

Something slid across the table in front of him and he pulled his hand away from his eyes, looking down in confusion. A single slice of pie stared up at him from a white box. 

“What’s that?” he asked, turning in his chair to face Cas, who handed him a fork with a small smile. 

“The woman at the front desk also recommended a pie company up the street. Apparently, they were featured as having one of the twenty-five best pies in America.” He was looking at Dean with a soft eagerness, cautiously hopeful. “They had lots of different kinds so I just got their most popular. Apple berry, I think.”

Dean’s mouth was already watering, the sweet, cinnamon scent rising from the box and bring back memories of his childhood, before his world became all monsters and blood, before his dad started drowning his pain in booze and killing and dragging him along for the ride. 

Wordlessly, he took a bite, chewing slowly to savor the taste. Immediately, the darkness that had been creeping in at the edges of his mind dissipated. 

“It’s delicious,” he said honestly, already going in for another forkful. “Thanks, Cas.”

He glanced up to find him fighting back a smile, head ducked slightly. Their eyes met and Cas’ dipped down, gaze lingering somewhere below Dean’s chin. Before he could ask, Cas reached out, straightening his collar where it had tucked in on itself. Briefly, just a ghost of a touch, his knuckles brushed the thin skin over Dean’s pulse, sending warmth pooling in his gut.

“You’re welcome, Dean.” 

He must have imagined the way Cas’ fingers lingered slightly before he pulled away.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to will away the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck. It was shit like this that fucked with his head, that sent him scrambling for a shred of sanity to cling to. 

“You want a bite?” he offered, just for something to say.

But Cas shook his head, retreating from the table and over to his bed. “I’m going to read over Sam’s email again, see if we missed anything.”

Dean finished his pie, then stretched and headed to the bathroom silently. Cas was laying on his bed, eyes glued on his phone screen but they were half closed, like he was struggling to keep them open.

In the safety of the shower, Dean let himself rest his head on the arm, steaming hot water cascading down onto him. There was a tight, heavy knot resting low in his abdomen, arousal and self-loathing.

Typically, he had Sam here as a buffer, but he’d been staying at the bunker more and more, almost falling into a new role like Bobby’s, researching and managing, helping hunters as they reached out. They were fine without him — Dean mostly relieved to get him out of the way of danger for a while — but it didn’t make it any easier for him to focus on the job instead of his tumultuous emotions. 

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Jerking one out with Cas just in the other room was a low that Dean refused to hit, so instead, he cranked the shower as cold as it would go.

When he left the bathroom, he was covered head to toe in goosebumps, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, but he felt a little more in control. He was only half surprised to find Cas slumped against the pillows, fast asleep, phone still between gently curled fingers.

Moving quietly, Dean went over and slipped the phone from his hand, setting it on the bedside table. After a second of consideration, he took the blanket from the foot of his bed and draped it carefully over Cas. 

He knew that he should try to stay up and do more research but instead, he turned off the lights and crawled into his own bed, relieved that his sheets smelled like laundry detergent rather than cigarettes. Laying on his side so he could make out the shape of Cas sleeping and watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, Dean took a deep breath and let himself relax into the mattress.

 

_________

  
  


Dean jolted upright, sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, heart racing so furiously behind his ribs that he could feel it in his head like a war drum. It took him a second to realize that Cas was kneeling on the bed next to him, and Dean had him by the wrist, gripping so tightly that he was surprised he wasn’t trying to pull away.

But Cas just twisted his hand slightly so their palms were together, and wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist, mirroring him. “You were having a nightmare,” he said softly, half of his face illuminated by the light outside the room streaking in through the window. 

Yes, he had been. He could still taste the metallic tang of blood in his teeth, adrenaline racing through his veins, a shiver of barely contained violence skittering down his spine. His nails were digging into the soft flesh of Cas’ wrist but he couldn’t seem to relax his grip.

Cas’ thumb brushed slowly along Dean’s pulse and the one blue eye he could see was sorrowful and steady. 

He didn’t say anything, just kept it up until Dean’s fingers loosened, his breathing slowing down. He was still dizzy, struggling to heave himself out of the nightmare’s claws, but with each swipe of Cas’ thumb, he inched up a little closer to the light. 

When his free hand tentatively brushed through the sweaty strands of Dean’s hair, with a hesitation that he could feel like a weight in the air, he couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Couldn’t help but give himself that, just for a minute, the two of them there in the dark together. 

“Go back to sleep,” Cas finally said, voice low and rough, a mixture of gravel and velvet. “It’s still early.”

Dean couldn’t respond, couldn’t get words to form on his lips because all they wanted to do was find Cas’ and taste him like he’d been dreaming of for years. He wondered if Cas could feel his pulse racing beneath his touch. 

No, no,  _ no.  _

Somehow, he managed to sit up and scoot back until he was pressed against the headboard, Cas’ hands falling away. 

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, maybe a bit unkindly, because Cas looked away. “What time is it?”

He didn’t even glance at the clock before responding. “Almost four.”

Looked like they’d be getting an early start this morning then. Good — the sooner they got this done, the sooner he could back to the bunker and detox, trying to purge his need for Cas from his system before they had to hit the road again.

Getting out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. After splashing his face with cold water and brushing his teeth, he felt a little more awake, cold awareness sliding down into his stomach like an ice cube at just how close he’d been to fucking everything up. 

“I’m going to run a few things to the car if you wanna get ready,” he told Cas when he came out, lifting his bag onto the bed. The bathroom door closed a second later.

It was still pitch black when he stepped outside, the air cold and crisp even through his jacket. Immediately, his eyes went to the coffee stand out across the parking lot, the neon sign setting the damn pavement on fire with streaks of red. 

Dean was surprised that they were open at such a ridiculous hour of the morning but he wasn’t going to question it, not when he would literally kill something for a cup of hot coffee right now. 

A few minutes later and he was nudging the room door open with his elbow, a cup in each hand. 

“That stand is open twenty-four hours,” he told Cas, who was sitting at the table, doing up the laces of his boots. “Thank god everyone in this state has an unhealthy obsession with coffee.”

He handed Cas his drink, who took it cautiously, corners of his mouth always down turning slightly in anticipation. Dean couldn’t help but watch over the lip of his cup as he took a drink, surprise lighting up in his eyes.

“This isn’t coffee.”

“Amazing deduction there, Sherlock,” Dead deadpanned, but without any bite. “It’s hot chocolate. I figured if little kids like it, there was a good chance you would too.”

Cas’ eyebrow went up, like he was trying to decide if he’d been insulted or not. “Your intuition was good; it’s quite tasty.”

He shouldn’t have felt so pleased with himself.

“Yeah, well, it’s got no caffeine so it’s not gonna help wake you up, but at least it doesn’t taste like dirt, right?”

“No dirt,” Cas confirmed with a thoughtful smile. 

Dean pulled his phone from the charger, a text from Sam waiting for him. 

_ No luck on the body. The police looked extensively though, so it was either buried or hidden in the house. _

Great, so that narrowed down absolutely nothing.

“We’ve got zero on where to find the bones,” he told Cas, who looked understandably unenthused by that news. “Looks like we’re winging it. Maybe if we ask Rosie nicely, she’ll tell us where her body was stuffed.”

“I’m going to assume that was sarcasm, since we would never get that lucky.”

Dean sighed, taking another gulp of his coffee. “You’ve got that right.”   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who has read and left any sort of encouragement <3

As it turned out, Rosie was unexpected helpful when it came to finding her body and it made Dean’s skin crawl with nerves.

“I don’t like this,” Dean muttered, shotgun gripped loosely at his side, ears straining for any sound.

Cas nodded in agreed, his pose similar to Dean’s as they slowly made their way down the hall.

When they’d arrived at the house, the sky still dark and peppered with stars, Dean immediately didn’t like the look of it. It was outside of the city, no other houses within sight, which would make their job a little easier. But it was huge, if a little run down looking, like a haunted house straight out of a scary movie. Lots of places to hide a body.

They’d geared up and gone in, the front door creaking to announce their arrival. The foyer was a mess of equipment and house guts — piles of splintered wooden boards and rusty pipes. Twin staircases led up to a landing, where that unlucky worker had taken his swan dive. 

It only took a few minutes of looking around, working their way from room to room, before Rosie Clements decided to make an appearance. The temperature dropped immediately, Dean’s breathing coming out in pure white puffs, chills creeping across his skin. The lights the workers had strung up along the hallways started to blink on and off, shadows dancing on the walls.

Cas met his eyes and nodded, lifting his shotgun in one smooth movement as he scanned the room. 

She appeared at the end of the hallway in a flurry of flickers before solidifying enough that Dean could make her out. She was pretty, with pointed features and blonde hair cut to her chin. Her blue, calf length dress was grimy and torn in a few places, and he wondered if she’d still been alive when her fiancé stuffed her in whatever hold he’d found. 

_ “You need to leave,” _ she told them, her voice an echo that vibrated through the air.

He felt Cas come up behind his right shoulder, shotgun leveled at her. “Yeah, sorry, we don’t scare that easily,” Dean said. “Now poof before I give you a nice taste of rock salt.”

She vanished then reappeared a few feet closer, close enough now that he could see the bloodstains soaking the front of her dress. 

_ “Get out. Get out now.” _

“Should I shoot her?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean considered. “Any chance you want to tell us where your body is?” he called, mostly joking.

But she solidified to the point that she looked almost real, pain twisting her face. One of her hands drifted down to her stomach and when she pulled it away, it was coated crimson with blood. 

_ “He stabbed me.”  _ Her words were quiet, barely more than a whisper of wind rustling through the hallway. “ _ He stabbed me and stabbed me. Blood on the floor, blood on my precious books, blood on his hands.” _

Damn, that fiancé of hers really did a number on her.

Her eyes met his and they were surprisingly aware, alive and brimming with emotion. 

_ “You need to get out of this house,”  _ she said, getting louder with every word.  _ “Now!” _

The lights started going crazy again and with a crackle of static that sent the hairs on Dean’s arm standing up, he and Cas went flying backward into the wall a few feet behind them. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it knocked the wind out of him and he heard Cas grunt next to him. When he looked back over, Rosie had disappeared. 

They got to their feet, waiting for a second to see if she came back but the lights were steady, the temperature returned to normal.

“She mentioned books,” Cas pointed out. “Do you think there might be a library?”

“Let’s find out.”

So, now here they were, searching for a library, directed by the ghost they were trying to gank. Just when Dean thought that shit couldn’t possibly get any weirder, it always did.

“This feels too easy.”

“It’s definitely strange,” Cas agreed. “Did she also seem not particularly…  _ murderous _ to you?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, she did throw us into a wall. I think my question just kinda threw her back into her death and shook her up.”

Cas didn’t look entirely convinced, head cocked as he thought it over. “She wasn’t very violent; it was more like she just wanted us to leave.”

“Of course she wanted us to leave, she’s killing people for coming in here and messing with her house.”

The look Cas gave him was pure exasperation. “You know what I mean.”

He did. She had felt off, but spirits were twisted and warped from staying here instead of passing over, so weird wasn’t really  _ weird.  _

“I dunno, buddy, but at the end of the day, she’s killing people. Let’s just find her bones and get outta here.”

Cas still looked unsettled, but followed him as they made their way back across the foyer and to the other side of the house.

The fourth door they opened was the one they were looking for, an open room with huge, empty bookcases set into the walls. The rest of the room had been gutted, the wallpaper stripped off and beams exposed along the ceiling. Outside, rain was pelting against the windows.

Dean took one side of the room, eyeing the walls suspiciously. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d found a body crammed in one, though he really didn’t want to start putting holes all over the place. 

“Anything?” he called across the room to Cas.

“No,” he replied, reaching out to feel one of the walls, mind probably going to the same place. “We aren’t even sure if this is the right place though. Even if she was killed her, he could have taken her body anywhere.”

Dean considered for a moment, glancing around the room. “I don’t think so. She didn’t live alone and there was a lot of blood. There’s no way he could have taken her out of here without someone noticing.”

He paced around the area, pausing when the floor creaked beneath his feet. Rocking back on his heels, he listened to the low sound, then took a big step back, scanning the floor. The floorboards were worn, clearly the original ones from when the house was built, but the lines were off somehow.

“Hey, grab me one of those crowbars, will you?” he said to Cas, shrugging off his bag and digging out a flashlight.

Cas did as he asked, watching as Dean took the crowbar and studied the floor for one more second before jamming it into the edge of the floorboards that were right in front of him. As he strained, a whole cluster of the floorboards rose together as one, revealing a shadowed hole. 

“A secret crawlspace, my favorite,” Dean deadpanned, already tasting the must and feeling the phantom brush of cobwebs down the collar of his jackets. “I’m going in.”

Cas didn’t protest, just crouched down to peer into the hole. The dim overhead lights provided just enough light to see that it wasn’t very deep, only a few feet, but it looked like it went back, under the floor.

Hopping down, Dean grimaced. He’d have to crawl on all fours and once he was in there, there wouldn’t be much room to move around if Ghostie Rosie decided to pop in for a little murderous fun. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, clicking the flashlight on and putting it between his teeth, getting down and crawling in without hesitating or looking back at Cas. 

The air was thick and dry, each breath coating his mouth with dust. The flashlight beam bounced around as he inched forward, lighting up an unmistakable lump at the end of the narrow space.

_ Bingo. _

Up close, it didn’t reveal much more. It was hard to tell but it looked like something big, wrapped in a ragged blanket and tied with some sort of thin rope. 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice was colored with restrained worry. 

He lowered himself onto an elbow to pull his flashlight from his mouth. “I’m good. Coming out.”

Grabbing the bundle by one of the ropes, he dragged it out, shuffling backward. The second he was free, Cas gripped his arm and helped pull him upright, then together, they hauled the bundle up and onto the floor. Dean reached down and slipped a knife from his boot, slicing through the frayed cords.

Reaching out, Cas grabbed one and pulled the whole length of it free from the blanket, peering at it curiously.

“I think it’s a curtain tie,” he said, lifting it to reveal the limp tassel at the end. 

Dean just lifted his eyebrows, finishing slicing the last ones and pulling the stiff, filthy cloth apart. It fell open, revealing a mummified body in a faded blue dress with a head of blonde hair. 

“Looks like our girl.”

On cue, the lights started flickering, a low hum in the air their only warning before Rosie appeared. She was right next to her body, gazing down at herself sadly, a mask of grief tight over her face.    

Dean traded a swift look with Cas, then used her momentary distraction to go for his bag, where the salt and kerosene were. He’d just wrapped his fingers around the handle of his shotgun resting on top of it, when he got shoved forward, rolling ass over head, barely managing to keep his grip on the gun.

“Cas, get the bag,” he barked, jumping to his feet, shotgun up and ready, but Rosie was nowhere to be seen.

_ “I had to do it.”  _ Her voice floated through the room, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Cas at his bag, rifling through it.  _ “I had to kill him.” _

“None of those men deserved to die,” he said loudly, spinning when he thought he saw movement but it was just the window rattling from the wind and rain outside. “They were all innocent, just doing their job.”

_ “I told them to leave. They didn’t listen.” _

Cas straightened, the kerosene and matches in one hand, salt in the other, just as Rosie appeared behind him. 

“Down,” Dean yelled, then fired a shot as soon as he dropped to the floor. It tore through her and she disappeared again.

He crossed the space between him and Cas, gun still up and at the ready. “Get the body,” Dean told him.

“I’m trying,” Cas responded irritably, climbing to his feet. But he moved quickly, flinging salt around, then popping the kerosene cap off and dousing the body and blanket. Tossing the empty bottle aside, he went to light a match, the pungent smell of fuel filling the air. Before he could, he went tumbling backward several feet, landing in a crumpled heap.

Dean swore lowly, hurrying over to help Cas up, who looked more annoyed than injured. 

“Matches got knocked out of my hand,” he said, stepping away like he was going to look for them, but Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him back so they were nearly pressed together.

Rosie flitted into existence a few feet away and Dean fired off another shot, but he couldn’t tell if he’d hit her before she’d dissipated into a cloud of mist. “There’s a lighter in my jeans pocket,” he told Cas, pulling shotgun shells out of his jacket and reloading quickly, never stopping his scan of the room.

He felt ashamed beyond words because even at that moment, fighting a ghost and struggling to keep upright for more than two seconds, the feeling of Cas’ hand diving down the front pocket of his pants made his body perk up like he’d been shocked. 

_ “I can’t leave, I have to stay here.”  _ She appeared to the right and Dean swung to face her, but not fast enough. The shotgun went flying out of his hands and before he could react, she slammed both hands into his chest. 

It felt like he’d been struck by a truck as he flew through the air and hit something, crashing straight through it. Dust and debris rained down on him as he landed, struggling to get air into his crumpled feeling lungs, the room swimming above him. There was a sharp, hot pain in his side and he tried to focus on that to pull himself out of the blackness swirling at the edges of his vision.

_ “Dean!” _

He could hear Cas’ voice shouting for him but he couldn’t respond, the iron band around his lungs too tight. Wheezing, he managed to lift his head slightly and see the jagged, splintered hole where he’d just been thrown through the wall. And Rosie as she flickered into sight, leaning over him, her face twisted with sorrow and anger. 

_ “No one will listen to me,”  _ she told him.  _ “I had to kill him.” _

Dean was pretty sure he was about to end up next on her list of men she had to kill, but he couldn’t move, his limbs refusing to work, his head too heavy and dizzy.

Luckily for him, Cas was there to save the day and as Rosie reached for him, she froze, reeling back as she went up in flames, disintegrating before his eyes.

Dean let his head fall back, fighting nausea that rose in his throat at the movement. He hated when it got that close, but hey, it wasn’t a hunt if he didn’t get his ass kicked and have at least one near-death experience, right?

He might have blacked out for a second because the next thing he knew, Cas was crouched next to him, saying his name urgently, eyes filled with barely restrained panic. He saw him, just briefly raise his hand toward his head, then freeze. 

Cas did that sometimes, grasping at the instinct to heal and reacting before he remembered that he didn’t have his grace anymore. The look he got when he realized a split second later was always like a knife to the heart.

And though his face was hard to focus on, there was no mistaking the flash of dismay and self-loathing that flashed across it, there and gone, just leaving him looking like he was about to be sick. 

“It’s okay,” Dean said, voice rough and barely there. He tried to sit up and felt Cas’ arm supporting him until he managed to slump forward slightly. “I’m okay.”

That wasn’t completely true, but he’d had worse. The spinning was already slowing down, and he felt a little steadier now that he was sitting, the pain in his side more of a distant ache. There was something hot slicking down his back though, sticky around the waistband of his jeans, so he was probably bleeding.

Cas was ghostly pale in the yellow lighting, eyes haunted. Dean’s crash must have looked pretty bad and shaken him up.

“Hey,” he got out, reaching for him. He meant to touch Cas’ shoulder, but somehow his hand landed on his face, cupping his cheek and the line of his jaw. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Don’t- don’t look like that. It’s okay.”

They were so close, Dean half collapsed and leaning on him. So when Cas closed the gap between them, it happened so quickly that Dean didn’t have time to react. 

His lips were dry and soft against his, just a whisper of a kiss, but it sent Dean’s heart slamming against his ribs, pounding in his ears. Cas pulled away after just a second, only an inch or two, and let out a small, shuddering breath, warm against Dean’s mouth. In it, he heard relief and anxiety, desire and fear.

Frozen with shock and indecision, Dean couldn’t move. Maybe he’d whacked his head harder than he’d thought at first. But he knew that wasn’t the case because not even his most vivid of fantasies could come close to what he was feeling right now.

“Cas,” he murmured weakly, not sure what was going to come out of his mouth next. Not even sure what he was trying to say to him. 

There must have been something in his voice that betrayed the hunger twisting in his gut, because Cas’ breathing hitched, and he leaned back in, brushing his lips with his own once more.

Everything was spiraling, spinning around him and out of his control, with only Cas to keep him grounded and steady.

Dean wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss, just that his hand was twisted in the front of Cas’ jacket, and Cas was cupping his face, fingers so icy cold that they burned against his skin. It was desperate and messy, and Cas kept making these little gasping noises into his mouth that were going to kill him. 

He dragged Dean closer to him with shaking hands until he was practically halfway in his lap, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat that made Dean’s head spin. He wanted to hear him make that again and again. 

Cas’ lips parted easily when Dean nudged them open with his own, not hesitating to taste him with his tongue. He was so hot, like a living flame, and tasted faintly sweet — like the long-gone memory of hot chocolate — mingled with something deeper and distinctly more  _ Cas,  _ the scent that haunted Dean’s dreams. 

He felt like he was going to wake up any second from this, that Cas was going to vanish beneath him. Gripping his jacket tighter, Dean let his free hand wander up, stroking the skin of his neck and feeling the frantic flutter of his pulse, thumb brushing through the prickle of stubble on his jaw. And when he ran clumsy fingers up the curve of his head and into his thick, dark hair, Cas just pulled him closer, his own grip tightening.

The slick slide of Cas’ tongue against his own was possibly the single most erotic thing Dean had ever felt, and he was shivering with arousal. And when Cas slipped a hand under the edge of his shirt, palming his waist and ribs, he jolted, hand tightening reflexively where it was knotted in his hair.

The groan that vibrated in Cas’ throat at the yank was pure fucking sin, wanton and filthy with need. The thought that maybe he liked it a little rough and dirty shot through Dean like a lightning bolt, sizzling along his nerves and boiling in his blood. The ache of his erection straining at the front of his jeans took on a painful edge as he got even harder, more turned on that he could ever remember being. 

Everything — the pain and dank, musty room, the anxiety and adrenaline — fell away. All he could think and feel was  _ Cas. _

Until Cas pulled himself away with a low, alarmed sounding noise. The loss of his mouth against Dean’s and the sudden rush of cold, dust filled air that followed, was so sudden that he had to catch a whine at the back of his throat from escaping. 

“You’re bleeding.”

Dean just blinked dumbly at Cas’ blood smeared hand that he’d lifted up between them. He was dizzy, so dizzy from getting knocked through a wall, from Cas’ devouring kisses, and it took a solid second or two for his brain to catch up.

Oh  _ fuck.  _

He was practically straddling Cas, whose dark eyes were gazing up at him, almost pure black in the low lighting, wide with desire and concern. His hair was sticking up in every direction, face flushed and lips swollen. And Dean, he was just sitting here like a stunned idiot, noticeably hard dick outlined in his pants, clinging onto him. 

Jerking back, he half fell out of Cas’ lap, catching himself at the last second, the movement sending a bolt of pain through him. 

“Yeah,” he rasped through gritted teeth, struggling to collect his scattered thoughts as he lowered himself onto the floor — trying to not look at Cas, to not notice the hurt that flashed across his face. “I noticed.”

Cas looked down at his bloody hand again. “I shouldn’t have- you’re hurt and I- I didn’t think-” His voice was filled with regret and it hurt Dean worse than anything that ghost had done to him.

“I’m fine.” He wanted to sound harsh, to take a verbal swing as Cas and let out some of the pain swelling up inside of him, but it just came out tired and defeated. Familiar hollowness scooped out his insides and left them on the floor as he pulled himself to his feet, keeping his face carefully impassive.

Cas followed, reaching out for him. “Dean-”

He moved, sidestepping his hand, knowing that his touch could undo him right now. “Let’s just get out of here.”

 

\-------------

 

It was still pouring outside, the rain coming down in a thick sheet and Dean just wanted to sink down in the wet mud until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

He’d tried to check and make sure he wasn’t bleeding to death, but his injury was somewhere along the back of his ribs and he couldn’t see. There wasn’t enough blood for him to be too concerned, though the pain wasn’t going anywhere. But he was more than used to that.

Cas had carried his bag back through the house, silent the whole way, and though Dean could feel his gaze on him a few times, he’d resolutely kept his eyes on the floor, focusing on each step that was taking him closer to getting out of this hell house. 

Popping open the trunk, Cas tossed the bag into it then headed around the car. He was getting poured on, but seemed unconcerned by the water running in small streams down his face and soaking the shoulders of his jacket. In fact, he paused for a second, tilting his head back to let the rain fall on his exposed face.

“Here,” Dean said, tossing him his keys, which he managed to snag out of the air reflexively. “You drive.”

Cas’ dark brows came together, beads of water clinging to his eyelashes. “Are you sure?”

Not bothering to answer, Dean just climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door firmly, resting his head against the cold window. A few seconds later, the driver’s side door creaked open and he closed his eyes, hoping with everything he had that Cas would take mercy on him and not try to talk about what had happened. 

For once, things went his way, the whole ride back to the inn completely silent except for the swishing of the windshield wipers and the rumble of the engine. Dean kept his eyes shut the whole way, part of him afraid that the second he opened them, Cas would take that as an invitation to start talking.

He didn’t want to think about it, but his traitorous mind would stop conjuring up the memory of Cas’ lips against his own, the strength of his arms holding him close. A small, locked away part of himself had always wondered if the longing and attraction had been one-sided. He wasn’t an idiot— he’d seen the looks Cas gave him and the way he spoke to him sometimes… but there had never been any question in his mind that Castiel, angel of the lord, was leagues and bounds above him. It was never meant to be, not worth the heavy cost of their friendship and the potential pain later. Now, even after Cas had kissed him, he couldn’t look at it and let himself wonder what it meant. That was too dangerous of a path to go down.

Cas pulled into the parking lot slowly, rolling into a free spot and turning Baby off. The tension was stifling as neither of them moved. 

“Dean?” he asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Biting back a sigh, he finally opened his eyes and sat up slowly, everything hurting. “Don’t worry,” he said, hating the bitterness that seeped into his words. “I’m still alive. Haven’t gotten rid of me yet.” 

Disapproval was radiating off of Cas, but Dean ignored it, getting out of the car slowly, bracing himself on the door when his legs didn’t want to work at first.

Digging the key out of his jacket pocket — an honest to god, old-fashioned key — he managed to get the door open and stumbled into their room, Cas only a step behind him. Barely slowing down, Dean snagged his bag from where he’d left it on the bed, then made his way into the bathroom, closing the door firmly so Cas would hopefully get the message.

The first thing he did was take off his boots, sitting on the closed toilet lid and gritting his teeth against the pain as he leaned over and undid the laces, toeing off them off. He peeled off his jacket next, giving the hole and bloodstain across the back a dirty look. It was lucky that no one had been in the parking lot when he’d gotten out of Baby, but he’d probably have to go out and wipe off her seats later. 

His shirt hit the floor and he twisted in the mirror to see the wound. It was a decent gash across the back of his ribs, and definitely needed stitches.

“Sonovabitch,” he muttered lowly. There was no way he was stitching that up by himself.

Bracing his hands on the counter, he let his head hang over the sink. This was such a fucking mess and the last thing he wanted right now was Cas touching him.

No, that was a lie. The only thing he wanted right now was Cas touching him, and that was the problem. 

Where did they go from here? Was he supposed to apologize and pretend that nothing had happened? That would be easiest but a huge part of him didn’t want to, not when Cas had started it. 

_ Cas had started it.  _ Four simple words that shook him down to his bones.

He dug the first aid kit out of his bag, mostly to give his hands something to do, threading the needle with practiced precision. It went on the counter, a bottle of vodka joining it a second later. There was nothing to do after that, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the bathroom door.

There was no hiding in here, no getting away from Cas, he knew that. He’d have to face him eventually and even if they wanted to go on in denial, Dean would have to carry the weight of what happened. Every time he looked at Cas, he’d remember and that tidal wave of shit — yearning, lust, attraction, tenderness — that he’d been struggling to hold back, it was going to crash against his carefully built wall with more force than ever.

It made him feel so fucking tired.

“Cas?” he called, not wanting to wait any longer. The sooner this was over, the sooner they could leave. The job was done, and so was he.

Again, he went over to the sink, bracing his hands on either side of it, ducking his head so he wouldn’t have to see his face when he came in, like a coward. The door creaked open slowly, the rush of air wafting along his naked skin.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’ voice was soft and Dean didn’t let himself try to dissect what he was hearing in it. 

Reaching over, he nudged the bottle of vodka and needle towards the edge of the counter. “Stitch me up? I can’t-” 

“Of course,” Cas said, before Dean had even finished speaking. He felt him step closer, the warmth of his body hovering behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw long fingers wrap around the base of the bottle, the sound of the cap unscrewing loud in the silence.

The vodka burned as it splashed against the cut, but that was good. The prick and tug of the needle through his skin after was another welcome distraction, the pain sharp and clear, cutting through all the foggy confusion wrapped around his brain. 

Dean didn’t speak, didn’t look up from the white porcelain of the sink, not even when Cas’ fingertips brushed across his ribs, not when his hand settled gently against the skin of his back, bracing both of them as he stitched. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured softly. “Not being able to heal you, it’s-”

“We’ve already been through this,” Dean interrupted, fingers flexing against the counter. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Nothing we could do anyway, so stop beating yourself up.”

They were quiet for another few seconds as Cas kept dragging that needle through his skin.

“Everything else-” he started, and Dean’s stomach dropped so quickly that he nearly gagged. “I’m sorry for that too. I regret how I handled the situation, I wasn’t thinking clearly and-”

Dean couldn’t help himself; he physically shrank away from Cas’ touch, folding himself over the sink in a vain attempt to get away from him and the words that he didn’t want to hear, that he would give anything not to hear.

But Cas’ hand wrapped around his upper arm, perhaps unintentionally right where his touch had once been branded into his flesh, pulling him back. “I’m not done yet,” he said firmly, and Dean didn’t know if he meant with the stitches or his words.

The prick and tug of the needle kept going. 

“What I mean,” Cas continued, “is that I regret how I’ve made you feel. It seems that my… control is not what it was as an angel. I promised myself that I would not push you or make you uncomfortable, and I failed.”

Dean desperately wanted to look up and meet Cas’ eyes, to see if he was saying what he thought he was. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, irrationally terrified that if he moved, he’d break something, shatter this moment.

The tiny  _ plink _ of the needle landing on the counter sounded like a thunderclap in his ears. 

“There,” Cas breathed. “That should be sufficient, though my stitches aren’t as neat as yours.”

Dean couldn’t have given two fucks about the quality of his stitches, not right now. He didn’t move away, but neither did Cas, his hand still pressed against his back.

“I know why,” Cas finally said. “You’re afraid to take anything that might make you happy. You don’t think you deserve anything good, and if you have it, it’s going to get snatched from your grip and destroyed before your eyes, as it has so many times before.”

Something burned in the back of Dean’s throat. “Stop.”

Cas ignored him. “You tell yourself that you’re alive, Sam is alive, and you’ve got each other. That’s more than you ever thought you’d get and it should be enough. It has to be enough because if it’s not, something is going to come and take it all away from you. It’s going to, because what right to you have to want anything more?” Though his voice was steady and calm, there was the faintest tremble from his fingers against Dean’s skin. “You’re scared to feel, because you might end up happy and if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that it never lasts.”

It’s like Cas was reaching right into his soul and ripping free all of the unspoken truths that Dean had been keeping there, wrapping them around himself like armor. It hurt to have those things torn from him and lingering in the air, but the words were strangely freeing, like a pressure he hadn’t realized was slowly crushing him was being removed.

“I understand your fears now, more than I ever have,” Cas admitted softly, uncertainty in his voice. “Being human- it hasn’t changed my emotions but they are… brighter, more overwhelming in many ways. I- I can’t stop feeling and it’s amazing and terrifying. The heavy, sour taste of fear, the vibrant warmth of joy- sadness, contentment, fondness…  _ desire, love.”  _

Before he could stop himself, Dean lifted his head, wide green eyes meeting blue in the mirror. 

“You’ve-” Dean croaked, swallowing heavily. “You’ve known-” He cut himself off, realizing just how stupid that question would be. And Cas just stared, not bothering to respond. 

Cas was right; he was scared, he was so fucking scared. This whole thing was just too big, it’s always been too big, the idea of him and Cas together.

He needed to fall back on that right now — the impossibility of it, the dozens of reasons that he was constantly telling himself why he couldn’t let it happen — but it felt like Cas’ words had broken through the dam inside of Dean, the only thing holding it all back, and he couldn’t patch up the holes fast enough.

So, instead of doing the smart thing and walking away, letting things fall back into the way they were, Dean turned around, bare chest brushing Cas’ worn shirt, and kissed him. 

There wasn’t a single second of hesitation before Cas kissed him back, slotting their mouths together just right, catching Dean’s bottom lip between his own. It was slow and deep, completely different from the sloppy, frantic kisses at the house, but didn’t affect Dean any less. 

When Cas pressed his tongue into Dean’s mouth, insistent and needy, crowding him against the edge of the counter, Dean couldn’t hold back the low moan that caught in his throat. Cas’ arms caged him in, hands skimming up the sensitive skin of his sides and back, carefully dodging the newly stitched up wound. Dean wanted to return the favor and touch him everywhere, map out the planes of his body with his rough and calloused fingers. He started with Cas’ face, cupping his jaw and feeling the rasp of stubble, his pinky resting right over his racing pulse.

They broke apart only for a second, just long enough for Cas to yank his shirt over his head, then they were reaching for each other again, a tinge of desperation working its way into the moment. Cas’ nails bit into the flesh between Dean’s shoulders as he nipped at his lips, gently soothing away the sting beneath the slide of his tongue. Dean let his hand slip back to trace the shell of Cas’ ear, feeling the curls of dark hair hiding behind it that he’d probably spent hours staring at. 

A low sound rumbled between them and Dean wasn’t sure who had made it, but it didn’t matter because Cas stepped forward, pressing his bare chest and jean covered hips against Dean’s, erections riding against each other. 

Dean’s head fell back, hands reaching back to brace himself against the counter as his knees buckled, sucking in a breath so sharp that it should have punctured a hole in his lungs. Pure, molten heat slipped down his spine, toes curling in his socks as Cas leaned forward and sucked wet kisses along the column of his throat. 

He was already embarrassingly hard, throbbing in his jeans as Cas scraped his teeth along the corner of his jaw, and for a split second, he thought that he could finish just like this. It was too much, too good, too - 

“Oh fuck,  _ yes _ ,” he choked out, eyes fluttering shut as Cas rolled his hips against Dean’s, grinding into his hardness with his own. 

Suddenly, Dean needed to touch him, and it overtook him like a wildfire. His hands were shaking as he thumbed the button open on Cas’ jeans, the zipper parting with barely an effort. Not slowing down, Dean tugged at the waistband of his boxers, just enough so he could get his hand down and wrapped around Cas’ dick. 

A dark, sinful sounding growl left Cas and he pulled his mouth away from Dean’s neck to look him in the face. His pupils were blown up, so wide and dark with arousal that they’d nearly fully eclipsed the blue. Something sparked deep in the bottom of Dean’s gut.

“Dean,” Cas rasped, shallowly thrusting into his hand. He was hot and so hard, sticky precome smearing across Dean’s palm with each movement. 

He’d heard Cas say his name thousands of times over the years; a soft hello, a cry of warning or fear, pleading and praising. But he’d never said it like this before.

“Yeah, Cas?” he asked, breathless and panting, filling the inches between their mouths with hot huffs of air. “You like that? Lemme hear you, please.”

A red flush was spreading up Cas’ chest and collarbone, the cords of his neck standing out as he arched into Dean’s touch, his name falling off his lips like a desperate prayer. 

There was only enough room in Cas’ tight jeans for Dean to twist his wrist slightly so he pulled them down with clumsy yanks with his left hand. Once freed, Dean couldn’t help but pause and admire the sight of his fingers wrapped around Cas’ length.

When he stopped, Cas took the chance to return the favor, hurriedly undoing Dean’s pants and letting them fall around his knees, rubbing the heel of his hand against Dean’s dick through the thin material of his boxers. Leaning in, he cradled Dean’s face, thumb rubbing against the seam of his lips before he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, his name turning into a low groan, back curving against the hard edge of the bathroom counter as Cas’ fingers trailed up his chest, brushing over his nipple just as he palmed Dean’s erection through his underwear again. He needed a distraction, now, before he came already.

Adjusting his grip, Dean slowly pumped his hand, swiping his thumb over the wet head and smearing it slickly down Cas’ length. Cas was fucking into his fist, hips twitching and rhythmless, head falling forward to rest against Dean’s shoulder and he kissed the spot where it met his neck. His fingers moved away from Dean’s dick to dig into the flesh of his hip instead, but Dean didn’t mind; he wanted to focus on Cas and watch him fall apart beneath his touch.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean muttered as he leaned back slightly to get a good look. “You- you’re-” The words died on his lips because he didn’t have any that were adequate enough to describe just how beautiful Cas looked in that moment.

And then, he knew, just like that, that he was ruined for anyone else. 

“Dean.” Cas’ fingers wrapped around his wrist, stilling his movement. His eyes were half closed and his face was flushed, but he looked — not afraid, that wasn’t quite it — almost uncertain and overwhelmed. Slowly, his gaze dipped down to the tented front of Dean’s boxers and he knew what he was thinking.

Shaking his head, Dean swallowed. He wanted to see Cas, wanted to let him feel this completely. Wanted to know that he was the one making his former angel shiver and shake with pleasure. He just  _ wanted,  _ so much that it was itching under his skin.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, meaning it. “Just- just let me. I’ve got you.” 

Blue eyes widening, Cas nodded after a second, releasing Dean’s wrist. The look in them was too much on top of everything else, the tenderness and aching awareness, so Dean focused instead on the erratic rise and fall of Cas’ chest. 

It didn’t take long after that and Dean could feel when Cas got close, those little gasping noises falling from his pink lips, hips stuttering. He sped up lightly, snapping his wrist and tightening on the upstroke, feeling Cas scratching at him with his nails in a way that made his own dick throb.

He cried out when he came, body tense and shuddering, and Dean didn’t blink, refusing to miss one second of it as heat spilled across his fingers and knuckles.

Breathing heavily, Cas lifted his head to press a searing kiss to Dean’s lips, taking his hand in his own, ignoring the fact that it was covered in sticky release. Arousal and heated pride were thrumming through Dean, electric in his blood.

The brush of Cas’ fingers over his clothed erection made him jolt, biting his bottom lip to stifle an automatic whine rising in his throat. 

“May I?” Cas asked tentatively, tracing a barely there circle around the tip.

Unbidden, a huffing laugh escaped Dean. “You really think you have to ask?” He pushed his hips up, grinding harder into Cas’ hand. “I would’ve thought this was answer enough.”

A small, self-conscious smile curled at the corners of Cas’ mouth. “It seemed rude not to.”

Cas really did have his own special brand of etiquette.

The snarky response died on Dean’s tongue as his boxers were pulled down, the first touch of Cas’ palm against the bare skin of his dick making him shiver. His fingers were wet with his own release when he wrapped them around Dean’s length and fuck, if that wasn’t one helluva turn on.

The sound that escaped Dean was wanton and embarrassingly loud in the confined bathroom, echoing across the tile. 

Cas didn’t look away once, his gaze unwavering and steady as it roamed across Dean’s face, like he was cataloging each and every expression he made. Dean was too far gone to feel embarrassed, too lost in the sensations that were swallowing him whole as he fucked the slick circle of Cas’ fingers. He was close, hovering right on the edge, his thrusts taking on a frantic, frenzied pace.

“I’m gonna- Cas-” he gasped, clutching at the counter with everything he had. The tightly wound knot that had been twisting in his stomach suddenly snapped. “Castiel,  _ fuck.” _

If Cas had still been an angel, Dean had a feeling his eyes would have sparked bright with blue light.

He worked Dean through it as he came, the relentless pump of Cas’ hand urging him on, more, more,  _ more.  _

Dean’s heart was pounding so loudly that he could feel it behind his ears as Cas’ touch softened, free hand flattening against the base of his spine to pull him closer. Their cheeks brushed with a rasp of stubble and Dean could feel that Cas’ face was flushed hot, warmth radiating from his skin.

Whatever this was that they were doing, there was no coming back from it. The words that were said, the touches and the looks, those were permanent for Dean, branded into his brain until the day he died for good. 

  
  


\------------------

  
  


Cas ended up taking a shower afterward, and Dean muttered something about going to grab them food, ducking out of the bathroom. Though Cas had given him a look as he left, he didn’t say anything, probably picking up on the fact that he needed some space.

He threw his boots back on and dug a clean shirt and flannel out of his bag, getting dressed as the shower turned on, the curtain rings clattered loudly. A huge part of him wanted to go join Cas, the temptation making him hesitate for a second. But, he just grabbed his jacket and keys, ducking out of the room before he convinced himself it was a good idea.

It had stopped raining for now, though the sky was a foreboding shade of slate gray. Climbing into Baby, Dean eyed the crimson smear across the passenger seat, covering it with a bag he grabbed from the back. 

He had just started her up when his phone rang. Cursing lowly, he answered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“Hey, I meant to call you earlier.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sitting here wondering if you were dead or anything,” Sam said dryly and they both knew that he was only half joking. “I take it you found her bones?”

It took Dean a second to remember back to this morning and god, how did that feel like a lifetime ago? “Stuffed under the floorboards in the library.”

Sam’s low whistle was shrill in the speaker and Dean had to pull his phone away from his ear. “How’d you manage to find her?”

“Well, Rosie kinda helped with that.” He quickly explained what her spirit had told them and how they’d put it together to find the library. 

Humming thoughtful, Sam was quiet for a long second. “That’s certainly not our usual. And she kept insisting that she had to kill the workers?”

“I dunno, man, she was a crazy spirit. She kept saying ‘he’, not ‘them’, so maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing. It doesn’t matter though, Cas torched her bones.”

Sam made another considering noise. 

“Dude, it’s done,” Dean told him. “We’ll head out in the morning and hopefully make it back to the bunker by noon the day after.”

“Did something happen?” Sam questioned. “You sound-” He trailed off, letting the sentence hang there. 

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. A small part of him wanted to tell his brother what had happened, to ask him how he dealt with this. He knew deep down, that Sam wouldn’t be completely surprised by this turn of events, but he couldn’t get the words to form. 

“I’m fine,” he finally said, hearing that his voice was anything but convincing, so he cleared his throat, forcing lightness in. “I got my ass handed to me earlier and had to get stitched up, so I’m ready for a victory burger and getting my four hours of R&R.” 

“You good?”

He was aching and the stitches itched under his shirt. “Yeah, Cas patched me up. I’ll live, to the disappointment of monsters everywhere, I’m sure.”

Sam didn’t bother asking if he was sure he was okay. “How’s he doing?”

“Cas?” Dean swallowed heavily. “Yeah, I mean, he’s fine. Hanging in there. He’s still hopeless with a gun, but it’s hard to miss with a shotgun full of rock salt and an angel blade works on just about anything else.”

“I worry about him,” Sam admitted softly.

He always worried, but Dean could see where he was coming from. “I know, but I don’t think we give him enough credit. He’s doing well, probably better than either of us would have in his position.”

“That’s… surprisingly positive of you.”

“Hey,” Dean started defensively. “All I’m saying is, as far as coping goes, getting out and hunting isn’t a bad way to go. He could’ve drunk another liquor store or hid in the bunker until he died of starvation. Instead, he’s out here, saving people despite the fact that he’s mortal now.” 

Sam huffed into the phone, a noise of surprise. “No, no, you’re- you’re totally right.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

He laughed and it immediately made Dean miss him. “Sorry, I just- nevermind, it’s nothing.” He could tell he was smiling though. “Well, say hi to Cas for me and enjoy your victory burger.”

“Will do.” Dean hung up and immediately pulled up the internet to search for a burger joint nearby. 

The closest one was only a few streets down, but that meant he’d only be gone for half an hour tops and that was not enough time to get his head straight. And, he wasn’t too proud to admit it, but the thought of going back into their room made his lungs tight with anxious nervousness. 

So instead, he started driving around the city aimlessly, cruising down the main street and absentmindedly looking at all the shops and the people. You’d think that after spending most of his days on the road, he wouldn’t want to be driving around when he didn’t have to, but Dean always found it peaceful. He wasn’t rushing to get somewhere, to save a life or stop an apocalypse, he was just taking his baby out for a cruise.

A sign caught his eye and he pulled over before he could think twice. Drumming his fingers on the wheel, he stared at the giant wooden bee above the shop door, neon words flashing in the window to let everyone know that they had pure honey.

He’d never quite understood Cas’ weird love of bees, but he had a feeling that the people running this shop had a similar screw loose. It was undoubtedly full of things that Cas would love.

Letting Baby idle, he debated for a long minute. He was here already and the thought of bringing Cas home a surprise was a tempting one. But that was always Cas’ thing, the thoughtfulness and unexpected gifts, being soft like that. Dean knew that he wouldn’t be able to play it off as nothing, not right now, not after what had just happened between them.

Talking himself out of it, he pulled back onto the street, watching the sign disappear in his rearview mirror.

A minute later though, he had a sour taste in his mouth for not getting over his own insecurities enough to do something nice for Cas. That was just trademark Dean Winchester though; crippling insecurity followed by a swift gut punch of self-loathing. A bitter cocktail of his own making.

Scoffing at himself, he started looking for somewhere to park along the main road. He didn’t want to go back to that bee place, but there was something that he could get Cas that wouldn’t be a big deal. 

Back at the bunker, Cas had his own bedroom across the hall from Dean’s. He’d moved in after losing his grace and seemed happy to have his own space, though he expressed disappointment that he didn’t have anything to decorate with — no personal items of any sort. Sam had been the one to suggest that maybe he could start collecting things from different towns and cities they stopped at while hunting. Now, one of Cas’ bedroom walls was covered in tacked up postcards and bumper stickers, newspaper clippings of cases they’d done, like a roadmap of his time as a human.

Dean had to walk five blocks before he found a place that sold postcards, a little old-timey looking convenience store with a rack that looked half-forgotten in the back corner. The selection wasn’t great but he found one that he thought Cas would like, with a crisp picture of the snow capped mountains that he’d admired when they’d driven into town. 

Postcard tucked safely in his jacket pocket, he headed back to Baby, pulling out onto the street smoothly and hitting up the burger joint in a matter of minutes. The sky was still gray and looked ready to open up at any minute, but the first drops of rain didn’t start plinking against the windshield until he was pulling into the inn parking lot. 

Dean steeled himself as he entered their room, half expecting Cas to just be gone, the other half worried he was going to be sitting at the table, stiff-shouldered and formal, waiting for him to get back so they could talk. 

But Cas was just reclined on his bed — hair damp and socked feet crossed, phone in his hand — eyes in that perpetual squint of his as he gazed at the screen. He looked up, smiling gently when he saw Dean come in.

“Your brother is texting me,” he told him, sounding amused. “He would like me to force you to bring him back a mega steak burrito from that taco truck outside of Lexington on the drive home. His words, not mine.”

Cas didn’t mention that fact that Dean had been gone far longer than it would take to grab burgers. He didn’t mention that fact that before he’d left, they’d given each other a handjob in the bathroom. He just waited patiently for a reaction, sitting up in his bed.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, it’s on the way. I’m sure we can swing by.” Dean sat their food down on the wobbly little table, shrugging out of his jacket, then remembered the postcard. “Oh, here- for your wall.”

Cas took the outstretched postcard, face lighting up more than a piece of cardstock with a pretty picture on it warranted. “Thank you.” His fingers traced over the glossy front. 

Shrugging dismissively, Dean just went to sort out their food, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cas opened his bag, rooting around for a second until he pulled out a book, slipping the postcard carefully into the pages to it wouldn’t get bent. 

He was smiling the whole time.

 

———————

 

The rest of the night was surprisingly normal and Dean couldn’t have been more relieved. Everything had changed between them, but also nothing.

He called around and wrapped up the case, reassuring the sheriff that they’d taken care of it, making up some far fetched story about the squatter girl, but she accepted it gratefully. She was obviously just happy to have it taken care of. Cas did the same with one of the work crew, dialing a number written down on the back of a receipt, and reassuring the man that they’d be safe to go back to the house. 

Work done, they’d packed up their stuff so they could roll out quickly in the morning, and Dean wondered out loud if the pie place would be open early enough that he could grab some for the road. Upon looking it up and finding out that they didn’t open until ten, he then asked Cas if they broke in in the morning, what the chances were that the place would actually have any pie to steal.

The look Cas gave him was so disapproving and stern that it made Dean laugh.

It felt good, like everything between them was okay. And if there were maybe more meaningful glances and casual touchesthant usual, if Cas sat a little closer on the couch than he typically did and Dean let his eyes linger Cas’ pink lips while he talked, then that was okay too.

It wasn’t until they were getting ready for bed that the first jolt of nervousness worked its way through Dean. Were they… going to sleep together?

He hadn’t slept with someone else in years, not since Lisa, which felt like a lifetime ago most days. 

Dean went and hid in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and trying to not flush when he thought about what had happened in here earlier. He gave himself an extra minute to think this through, finally deciding that if Cas was in his bed, or invited him into his own, he’d say yes. But he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.  

When he emerged from the bathroom, Cas was in his own bed, already under the blankets and nestled into the pillows. He watched with unreadable eyes as Dean shuffled around awkwardly for a minute, tucking his toothbrush into his bag and moving around a few things that really didn’t need to be moved. 

“Okay,” he finally said, climbing into his own bed and avoiding eye contact as he clicked off the lamp. “Good night.”

There was a long pause. “Sleep well, Dean.”

Twenty minutes later, and Dean was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. There was definitely tension in the room, making it hard to relax or get comfortable. He didn’t know if it was from him or Cas, though he could tell that he wasn’t asleep from the pattern of his breathing.

The thing was, now that he’d thought about it and half expected Cas to invite him to bed, he wanted it. Why was it so damn impossible for him to just do something he wanted?

He knew that Cas wasn’t experienced with relationships, but to him, sleeping with someone meant intimacy and trust, something that he couldn’t just blame on lust or a spur of the moment decision. And he wanted that; another person to keep him warm at night and be there when he woke up. 

Laying there in the dark, Dean wanted to talk himself out of this whole situation and tell himself that they’d keep it as a one time thing. But he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that he was waiting for. He and Cas, they’d both died and come back multiple times, and if felt like every week, something new was trying to end the world. They’d lost each other more than once and while that would never get any easier — never stop being a fear gnawing at the back of his mind — the scarier thought was that one day Cas would be gone and all Dean would have was regret and a whole collection of chances he never took.

It was a sobering thought, clearing out all the other shit from his brain. 

Dean threw back his blankets and marched over to Cas’ bed before he could second guess himself.

Cas had his back to him but lifted his head, peering over his shoulder. “What-?”

“Scoot over,” Dean told him gruffly.

A second of hesitation followed, then Cas wiggled over and reached back to lift the blankets. They were warm and the pillow smelled like Cas’ shampoo, some organic herbal stuff that Dean secretly liked. 

He got comfortable, mirroring Cas, then reached out and snagged his waist, slowly dragging him a few inches back so they were pressed together. His shirt was soft and worn where Dean let his arm rest around his waist.

“Dean-“ Cas started, but Dean just shushed him softly, nuzzling the back of his neck, letting the tip of his nose trace through the soft hair that curled at his nape. 

“Just go to sleep,” he murmured, tucking his free arm under his pillow. 

Cas relaxed against him, letting out a tiny, barely audible sigh of contentment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read this, it was so much fun to write <3 always appreciate the support!

Dean awoke before Cas, but for the first time in forever, it wasn’t because of some nightmare or his body screaming at him to get up after his required four hours were up — it was his damn phone going off over on the bedside table.

Cas groaned out something that sounded suspiciously like “fucking phone” and rolled away from Dean, curling in on himself and mumbling into the blankets. Blinking blearily, Dean snatched it up, answering without looking at the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

“Agent Dharma?” a tired-sounding woman’s voice asked. “This is Sheriff Nguyen.”

Dean was immediately awake, a cold, sinking feeling in his gut. “Sorry, Sheriff, you woke me up. What can I do for you?”

He could practically hear her grimacing over the phone. “Apologies, I know it’s early but this couldn’t wait. Diana Walsh’s body was found about an hour ago. According to her husband, after I called her last night to let her know that you gave the house the all clear, she went over to survey the progress. She wasn’t supposed to be home until late, but when he woke up, she still wasn’t back, so he went over… he found her dead on the floor. It looks like there was an accident with a nail gun, though he can’t figure out why she would have plugged it in in the first place since she doesn’t do any of the renovations herself.”

Though there was no blame in her tone, sour guilt still coated Dean’s mouth. He’d been the one who’d told them it was safe, and he’d obviously missed something. That woman had died because he hadn’t done his job right. 

“I’m getting up now,” he told her, slipping his legs free of the tangle of blankets. “I’ll meet you at the station in half an hour.”

He set his phone back on the table, rubbing at his eyes wearily. Diana Walsh was dead and it was another person he could add to the long list of poor souls who’d lost their lives because of him.

The bed shifted behind him. “What happened?” Cas asked, voice still heavy with sleep. “You’re upset.”

Dean didn’t turn around, resting his elbows on his knees. “We fucked up. Diana Walsh was found dead this morning in that house.”

“We missed something,” Cas muttered, and Dean could tell that his mind was already racing in a million directions, trying to figure out where they’d gone wrong.

“Yeah, and now someone’s dead because of it.”

Rustling sheets followed Cas as he closed the gap between them, pressing against Dean’s back and resting his head on his shoulder. “We didn’t know,” he said firmly. “But we’re going to figure out what we missed and we’ll take care of it.” 

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, and Cas huffed softly, breath wafting across the side of his neck.

“If you’re going to feel guilty, then I’ll have to, too,” he told him. “Since this is as much my fault as it is yours. But I’d rather focus on solving this case and making sure no one else gets hurt… wouldn’t you?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean rocked backward slightly to bump him. “Yes, Cas, obviously.” He was right though; they needed to focus on the case and make sure they actually dealt with it this time. Not one more person was dying in that house.

Cas nudged him back. “Then get up and let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, they were striding into the sheriff’s office, not bothering to knock as she waved them in through the window. Sheriff Nguyen was a small woman, but she managed to give off the impression that underestimating her would be the last mistake you'd ever make. There were dark circles beneath her wide-set eyes and her hair was scraped back into a messy bun, but she looked wide awake. Judging by the three empty mugs on her desk, she was currently more caffeine than human. 

“This is my partner, Agent Bloom,” Dean told her, as Cas leaned over to shake her hand firmly.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries, gesturing for them both to sit. “So, what are you thinking? Because I’ve got Diana Walsh’s corpse with the coroner, shot up with so many nails that her head looks like a pin cushion, and no idea what to tell her husband.”

Well, that was a nice visual.

He glanced at Cas, who nodded slightly. They’d discussed on the car ride over and wanted to try to keep the sheriff away from the truth, if they could. The problem was, she was only going to roll with this if she didn’t really want to know what was actually going on.

“We think that the squatter must have an accomplice of some sort,” Dean told her, watching her reaction carefully. “We’re going to need anything you can dig up on the house and the Clements family who previously owned it. More specifically, Rosie Clements, who was presumed murdered in nineteen thirty-two.”

There was a long pause.

“Let me just make sure I have this straight,” Sheriff Nguyen said, taking a long drink of her coffee. “You think that Diana Walsh was murdered by an accomplice of a homeless girl who had been living in the house and murdered three men, making them look like freak accidents? And to help you find who that accomplice is, you now need information about the house and it’s past, specifically about a case that’s nearly a century old?”

Dean looked to Cas for help but he just shrugged, letting this one be his call. 

Leaning in slightly, Dean let his eyes meet hers. “If you want no one else to die in that house, then yes, you’ve got that straight.”

He could see it, that she was thinking about calling them out, chewing over it in her mind. After a minute though, she just nodded, turning to her computer, the tension in the room dissipating. 

“I’ll see if we have any records of the Rosie Clements case,” she said, clicking away at her keyboard. “We organized the older files a few years ago and got most of them on system, so there’s a good chance we’ll have it.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Dean stood, digging his phone out. “I’m going to make a call and see if our uh, research guy can find anything.” He gestured for Cas to follow him out of the room and into the empty hall.

Once they were out of earshot, Dean let out a heavy breath. “Okay, I’m gonna call Sam, see if he can figure out who we might be dealing with. Since we saw Rosie go up in flames, it’s gotta be another ghost or something about the house.”

Cas nodded, most likely already having come to the same conclusion. “I’ll go help the sheriff and let you know if I find anything. Maybe Rosie wasn’t murdered by her fiance, but a spirit that was already haunting the house.”

Not a bad thought, certainly worth looking into. Dean watched Cas go back into the office before he dialed Sam’s number.

He answered with a yawn. “If you woke me up just to tell me you’re on the road-”

“We missed something,” Dean interrupted impatiently. “Another person was killed in the house this morning.”

“On it,” Sam said, immediately sounding awake. Through the phone, he heard the little chirping sound that Sam’s laptop made when it was turning on. Did he sleep with that thing under his pillow?

He bit back the question, mentally filing it away for later. “Cas thinks maybe there was a ghost already in the house when Rosie died.”

“It’s possible,” Sam agreed. “Maybe she wasn’t talking about her fiance when she kept telling you that he killed her. Something about that wasn’t sitting right with me.”

Cas had said so too but Dean hadn’t paid any attention. His guilt intensified, making his stomach roll nauseously.

“What all did she say to you again?”

Dean repeated what he could remember, closing his eyes and leaning against the hallway, trying really hard to not think about what came after ganking her. The last thing he needed was Sam asking him why he sounded all hot and bothered over the phone.

“And you’re sure she said ‘I had to kill him’, not _them_?”

Sighing, Dean thought back. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.”

Sam made a thoughtful noise into the phone. “I’ll do some research and call you back.”

They hung up and a second later, Cas hurried over, a thin file in hand. 

“This is all they had on the Rosie Clements case,” he told Dean, passing it over. “Her fiance denied the whole thing, said that he had left the house half an hour before the police were called, and when he left, Rosie was heading to the library to read for the afternoon.”

“So, something got her while she was in the library.” Dean flipped through the files and grainy black and white photos of the crime scene. He paused when he got to the one of the knife they’d found in the pond. “But why would a ghost try to hide a knife? It wouldn’t need one and a spirit framing someone for murder is a new one for me.”

Cas shook his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m wrong about her being killed by a spirit that was already there.” 

“I mean, it fits.”

The next picture was Rosie standing with a man who looked about her age, both of them smiling. The file said it was her brother, Daniel Clements, who gave a witness report. He claimed that he saw Rosie and her fiance going into the library together and then later, found the blood and the fiance was nowhere to be seen.

Dean read the report twice, something feeling off. 

“What?” Cas asked, watching him. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

Considering for a second, Dean shifted closer to share the file, their arms brushing. “Her brother. This guy said he saw Rosie and the fiance going into the library. But, other eyewitnesses said they saw him driving back through town at that time, and when the cops went searching for him, they found him at home with friends who swore they’d been there together for at least an hour. He wasn’t formally charged because the timelines didn’t match up.”

He flipped back to the picture of the knife, tapping it. “The knife makes no sense, unless Rosie was killed by a person. So, let’s say someone follows her into the library and stabs her, then stuffs her under the floorboards. What are the chances of someone who didn’t live there knowing about that crawl space?”

Understanding dawned across Cas’ face. “You think it was the brother who killed her.”

Dean nodded, mind whirling as the pieces started coming together. “What if when he died, her brother became a spirit? And he’s the one who’s been doing all the killing… Rosie said that she told the workers to leave, she must have been trying to warn them and keep everyone out of the house.”  

Cas started to say something but Dean’s phone cut him off, ringing loudly.

“So get this,” Sam said immediately. “Rosie Clements lived in that house with her brother and aunt and uncle, who moved in after their parents died. Murdered, actually. And the unofficial suspect-“

“Daniel Clements,” Dean finished for him, giving Cas a meaningful nod. 

Sam sighed. “Why did you even wake me up?”

“Not my fault that I got the looks and the brains,” Dean quipped and the eye roll that Cas gave him was clearly telling him to focus. “Okay, so how did he die?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

On cue, Sheriff Nguyen came over with another file. “I know you wanted info on Rosie Clements, but I just pulled her brother’s case too. Looks like he disappeared a few years after her; I wasn’t sure if that was relevant?”

She handed it over to Cas, who thanked her, skimming through the first page. The sheriff didn’t bother lingering, probably smart enough to realize that she didn’t want to know what was going on. 

“It looks like Daniel vanished from the house almost three years after Rosie’s death,” Cas told Dean, who repeated it to his brother. “The aunt and uncle moved out after she died but Daniel stayed. When he disappeared, there was just no trace of him, and no sign that he had left.”

Dean ran a hand down his face, pushing off the exhaustion. “Okay, so Daniel murders his parents and Rosie, then she gets revenge a few years later? But why wait so long?”

“A lot of the time, it takes ghosts a while to be able to manifest or affect the world in any physical sort of way,” Sam chimed in. “She was probably biding her time, waiting until she had enough energy to do it.”

Rosie the late bloomer; there had to be a joke in there somewhere.

“But when she kills him, he stays behind as a spirit too,” Cas continued before Dean could say anything. “It was pure coincidence and luck that their aunt and uncle closed the home up and it was abandoned for so long. But once the workers came in, Daniel started killing again while Rosie tried to warn people away.”

Dean groaned out loud, Cas looking at him in concern. “And we just ganked her. She’s the only one who would know where she stashed Daniel’s body,” he explained in exasperation. “Any help here, Sam?”

“Nope,” his brother said apologetically. “I’m looking but it’s like Cas said, vanished without a trace. You guys are on your own with this one.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. 

 

————

 

They ended up staying at the station for most of the day, double checking over the files and looking for anything they might have missed. But, as evening rolled around and the sun started to set, they hadn’t found anything to point them in the right direction. 

To her credit, Sheriff Nguyen didn’t bat a lash when they spread out blueprints of the house and dragged out the old files from the parent’s murder case. She just brought them coffee and kept out of their way. 

Dean groaned, glancing out the window at the quickly vanishing sun. “We might just have to do a top to bottom search,” he told Cas, who was tucking everything away. “Sucks, but I don’t really see another option.”

“I agree,” Cas nodded, getting the files into a neat stack. “I’ll return these to Sheriff Nguyen and we can leave.”

When he came back, he had a faint look of amusement on his face. “She said that if anything comes up tonight, don’t bother calling her because she’s going home and drinking until what we’re doing starts making sense.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Something tells me she’ll run out of booze first.”

The drive over to the house was quiet, navy blue and plum purple slowly blanketing the sky as the last few rays of sun slipped out of sight. Dean wasn’t nervous — that rarely happened anymore — but he didn’t like that they were going in without a real plan of any sort. Until they found the bones and torched them, they were going to pretty much be at the mercy of this spirit.

He hadn’t realized he was tapping his fingers against his thigh until Cas covered them gently with his own. He didn’t say anything and when Dean looked over, he was still just gazing out the window. But he didn’t let go of his hand until they pulled up to the house.

They geared up silently, each taking a shotgun from the trunk and stuffing their pockets with extra shells. Dean tossed more in his bag, just in case. 

“There’s a really good chance this is going to get ugly before we’re done,” Dean said as they made their way to the front door. “We’re gonna stick together and move as quick as we can. Wanna start at the top or bottom?”

Cas considered for a second. “Top. We always start with the basement.”

“That’s because statistically, more bodies get hidden in basements.”

“I didn’t realize you were such an expert in murder statistics,” Cas muttered, giving him an amused, sideways look.

Dean stopped on the top step. “Are you kidding? If there was ever an expert in anything to do with hiding spots for bodies, I’m the guy. I think at this point, I’ve seen more dead people than live ones.” He shook his head. “Man, that is just sad.”

“Would you like to do something that doesn’t involve dead bodies after this?” Cas asked, suddenly watching him like his answer was very important.

“What do you mean? Like, after I’m done being a hunter? You know that-”

Cas shook his head, interrupting him. “No, I mean after  _ this.”  _ He gestured to the house and both of them standing there, shotguns in hand. “Like, do you want to go to a bar, or a real restaurant, or-” He stumbled, obviously not sure what else he could list. “Something else?”

Dean squinted at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“We both know I wouldn’t know the first thing about that.” He glanced away though, looking a little embarrassed. “Though if you’d like to, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Goddamn it if the thought didn’t send a little flutter through Dean’s stomach. Was this how things were going to be now? Solving cases, going on dates between, handjobs in motel bathrooms with cuddles in bed afterward? 

If he was being honest, that sounded kind of great. 

“Sure, Cas,” he finally said, helpless to stop the smile spreading across his face. “You find these bones and I’ll let you take me to dinner.”

Cas’ huffing laugh was quiet. “Is that supposed to be a form of incentive?”

“Depends… is it working?”

Though he just rolled his eyes, Cas was still the first one through the front door. In unison, they turned on their flashlights, twin beams cutting through the gloom of the entryway. Nearly every stair creaked as they made their way up to the second floor and Dean ground his teeth.

The rooms up here were in similar disarray to those downstairs; gutted, piles of scraped off wallpaper, floorboards ripped up in some spots. Dean tried to mentally keep track of those ones so if they had to haul ass, he wouldn’t step in a hole and snap his ankle. 

Seeing all of these rooms already being worked on, his stomach sank. If these workers were tearing up the walls and floors and hadn’t found anything yet, how would they? He had a feeling that Daniel wouldn’t be half as polite or up for talking like his sister.

The second room they went into, the temperature dropped and Dean’s breath came out in white puffs, condensation hanging in the air. He and Cas went back to back but nothing showed.

“He’s either watching us or used all of his ghost mojo to kill Diana,” Dean muttered. 

When nothing happened, they separated slowly, but the chill lingered as they searched the room. What Cas thought was a closet actually opened into another room, probably an adjoining bedroom. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck were prickling and his spine was tense, waiting for the inevitable blow. 

“What’s wrong, Daniel,” he taunted, hating the waiting game. “Can’t get it up?”

He stilled, waiting, but still nothing. Cas threw him a disapproving look but Dean just shrugged. 

“You know,” Cas started, “one of these days-“

Like a giant, invisible hand had swatted him, Dean flew through the air. He hit the floor of the other room hard, but rolled to his feet quickly, just in time to see Cas’ alarmed face as the door slammed shut between them. 

He lifted the shotgun, slowly spinning in place. His bag with all of his supplies wasn’t on his shoulder so he must have dropped it in the other room. At least that meant Cas had it. 

“You okay in there?” he called.

Cas’ response was muffled but understandable. “Yes. I think you angered him.”

That was a fair guess, considering he was the one who got telepathically thrown into the other room. 

“My comment hit a little close to home there, Daniel?” he asked. “Performance issues are nothing to be embarrassed by, I hear that-“

With a flicker, Daniel popped into sight, lips pulled back in a feral looking snarl. He was blonde like his sister, though his face was leaner, more severe looking. Something shifted behind Dean and he ducked just in time for a crowbar to go cartwheeling over his head, plunging deep into the wall.   


“Sonovabitch,” he spat, the other tools around the room starting to shake.

He tried to take a shot at Daniel but had to jump out of the way as a ladder came flying at him, and it went wide. Dean wasn’t quick enough to avoid the sledgehammer though, and it landed a glancing blow on his shoulder, a cry of pain ripping itself free from his lips. 

Across the room, he could hear Cas yelling his name and thudding against the door as he tried to get through.

Dropping to the floor, he rolled forward as a heavy toolbox landed right where his head had been a second before, hard enough to splinter the wooden floorboards. 

“Gonna just throw shit at me all night or are you gonna actually do something?” Dean asked loudly, knocking a drill out of the air with a swipe of his shotgun. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. “You can murder your sister, a helpless girl, but you’re too much of a coward to face me?”

Everything froze mid-air, and out of the corner of his eye, something flashed. In a second, Dean spun and fired, rock salt punching right through the middle of Daniel, who vanished in a swirl of mist.

All of the tools fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and Dean immediately crossed the room, reloading his shotgun as we went. 

“Dean?” Cas sounded on the verge of panicking, the door shuddering as he hit it again. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-“ He cut off, choking as something wrapped itself around his neck, yanking him backward. The remaining air in his lungs left him in a burst as he hit the floor, shotgun landing somewhere out of his reach.

Wheezing, Dean scrabbled at the thing around his neck, but it was too tight, and he couldn’t even get his nails under it. Black spots floated across his vision as he gasped desperately for air, his pulse thumping in his head like a drum. Daniel appeared above him, a savage grin cut like a slash across his face. 

_ “You flail and you fight, but you all die in the end,”  _ he told him.

Dean refused to believe he was right, even as he felt himself weakening, the fire in his chest too much. He couldn’t die, not now.

Every gasp for non-existent air was a razor blade slice across his lungs.

Suddenly, Daniel’s triumphant expression fell and without a word, he was gone. The pressure around Dean’s neck loosened and he rolled onto his side, hacking and taking desperate gulps of air, ripping the extension cord off of him. Once he could breathe, though his throat and chest felt raw and crushed, he staggered to his feet, grabbing his gun.

The room tilted for a second but he just stumbled forward, nearly falling over. A loud thump sounded in the other room and grunt of pain that must have come from Cas.

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _

He rammed the door with his shoulder but it didn’t budge. It was then that he smelled smoke, and stepped back to see dark curls of it slipping through the crack at the bottom, drifting up the wood.

_ What the- _

Grabbing the sledgehammer that had hit him in the shoulder earlier, Dean swung it overheard, bringing it down on the door as hard as he could. Wood cracked and splinted with every hit, smoke rushing in through the breaks. His lungs were burning worse than ever and he could hardly see through his watering eyes, but he didn’t stop until there was a hole big enough that he could get through. 

The other room was  _ burning. _

“Holy shit,” Dean gasped, frozen in place for a second as he took in the half of the room that was on fire, hungry flames rushing up the wall like desperate fingers. 

A wordless shout broke him free of his shock and he rushed forward through the smoke, finding Cas on the ground with Daniel hovering over him menacingly. Without hesitating, Dean fired and hit him dead on, vicious satisfaction flooding him as the bastard disappeared. He hoped that  _ hurt. _

“Hey, c’mon.” Dean dropped to his knees, hands roaming over Cas carefully and trying to help him sit up. He looked a bit dazed, but his gaze focused as he managed to get up. There was blood on the collar of his shirt, but Dean couldn’t see what it was from.

“We need to get out of here,” Cas told him as they staggered to their feet.

Dean barked out a hoarse laugh that turned into a cough as he inhaled a mouthful of smoke. “You think?”

When they made it to the door, it surprisingly opened easily to the hallway, but Dean wasn’t going to complain. The smoke followed at their feet and he could hear the flames crackling and billowing behind them, a ravenous beast.

“Hurry, hurry,” Dean muttered, pulling Cas down the hallway by his elbow. They left his bag behind but all that mattered right now was getting out of this house before it was nothing but ashes. Or before Daniel came back with a vengeance.  

Skidding around a corner, Dean almost missed the first step of the stairs leading down to the entryway. Only Cas’ firm grip on the back of his jacket stopped him from falling forward and probably snapping his neck on the tumble down. 

Arms pinwheeling for a second, he managed to regain his footing, then pushed Cas ahead of him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Daniel wasn’t going to try again, and sure enough, halfway down the stairs, something shoved him between the shoulders,  _ hard. _

Even knowing it was coming, Dean still crashed right into Cas, the two of them tumbling down the remaining stairs in a mess of limbs and grunts. He landed on top of Cas with a half groaned apology, struggling to get himself up and his gun steady. 

It went flying out of his hand before he could lift it more than a few inches. 

Daniel appeared at the top step for a brief second, then flickered and he was suddenly in front of them. Cas muttered something lowly, shifting so he was in front of Dean, pushing him back. He shoved a hand down the pocket of his jacket, then flung a spray of salt right in Daniel’s face, who howled and vanished.  

He was only gone for a second, just the time it took for them to spin to face the front door. But he was already blocking it, face twisted in an ugly snarl.

_ “I’ll cut your heart out, just like I did to my slut sister,”  _ he growled, a phantom wind starting to whirl through the room, tools shaking where they leaned against the walls. 

Cas pressed closer to Dean’s back, and he could feel his heart racing even through all the layers. 

There was a crashing sound and Dean risked glancing back, seeing a burning pile of wood in the room behind them where the ceiling was burning through. Red and orange flames licked the edges of the hole, heat curling the wallpaper into ribbons.

_ “They’ll never find what’s left of you,”  _ Daniel continued, creeping forward slowly.  _ “Your corpses will rot away in this house long after you’re dead.” _

Dean started looking around, seeing if there was anything iron in the room that he could use. His gun was laying on the ground, at least twenty feet away. Maybe if he went for it, it would be a good enough distraction that Cas could get out the front door. 

But Cas gripped his shoulder tightly, like he knew what he was thinking. When Dean looked at him, growling demands on the tip of his tongue, he froze in surprise because he was  _ smiling. _

_ “I’m going to rip your-” _

“Actually,” Cas interrupted mildly, “I don’t think you will.” 

Dean spun back to Daniel, just in time to see him go up in flames, his scream echoing through the empty house. 

They were out the door before he could blink, Cas dragging him out into the cool night air and across the damp grass to where Baby was parked. He only let go of his arm once they reached her, half collapsing against her to catch his breath.

Light flickered across the dark yard as the fire spread across the house, glowing in Cas’ eyes as Dean turned to him. “Did you just have a pocketful of salt?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

Cas gave him a grin tinged with exhaustion. “Some of my shotgun shells broke when we fell down the stairs. Though after tonight, it doesn’t seem like a terrible idea.”

Dean just shook his head because he couldn’t really disagree. They stood in silence for a minute, watching the house slowly burn. He wasn’t even remotely sad to see it go, heart still racing from lingering adrenaline. 

“How did the fire get started?”

“Oh, I started it,” Cas said, eyebrows creasing in confusion when Dean gave him a surprised look. “Well, I couldn’t get to you and we didn’t know where his bones were, so I figured I’d just burn the whole house down. And, I needed a way to distract him.”

Dean spluttered for a second. “We were in that house!”

“I was figuring it out,” he said dismissively, completely forgetting the part where Dean had to break down a door to come save his ass. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

He sounded so goddamn pleased with himself that Dean couldn’t help but laugh, the sound like he was trying to gargle gravel. Cas had set a room he’d been trapped in on fire, and was defending it as a good decision. The worst part was, it  _ had _ worked, saving Dean’s ass and getting rid of Daniel.

“You crazy bastard,” he said with a grin, grabbing the front of Cas’ coat and hauling him close for a kiss.

He meant for it to be just a quick kiss, but he ending up sinking into Cas, pressing him against the edge of the car. He tasted like smoke and salt, lips softening and parting beneath Dean’s. 

A fierce need to touch him, to feel his warm skin beneath his fingers, overtook Dean and he slipped his hands under the hem of Cas’ shirt. He didn’t realize that they were shaking until Cas gripped them in his own, pulling out of the kiss.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, peering at Dean, concerned expression highlighted in the glow of the flames. 

“Yeah.” He swallowed heavily, gaze tracing over the planes and details of Cas’ face. “It’s just-“ How could he put it into words, the aching need to be close to him right now, to feel that he was real and solid and  _ alive?  _ “It was a close one tonight, you know?”

Cas’ eyes softened and he lifted Dean’s hands up to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to his knuckles, then flipping them over to do the same to his palms. A low smolder sparked in his gut as Cas trailed his lips along the sensitive skin. Dean turned his hand to cup Cas’ jaw, following the line of it with his fingertips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas told him, and even though Dean knew that — he really did, even if he wanted to be doubtful some days — he just needed to hear him say it out loud. 

Cas leaned in to kiss him this time, hot and wet and lush, and as Dean’s knees buckled, he reached around him to brace himself against the car, caging Cas in. The heat of him was too enticing to resist and Dean stepped forward, slotting a thigh between Cas’ so they were pressed together as much as possible. Cas groaned into his mouth, grinding down onto his leg as his lips parted hungrily. 

After a minute of fumbling, they ended up in the backseat. It was cramped and Dean had to focus to keep from falling off of the seat as he hovered over Cas, but he couldn’t have cared less. Not with Cas underneath him, blue eyes practically glowing in the dark, shirt rumpled and rucked up around his ribs, fingers curled against the leather of the seat and splayed across the denim of Dean’s thigh. 

His eyes got even wider as Dean worked at his belt, the jingle of the buckle and rasp of Cas’ zipper the only sounds besides their heavy breathing.

More than anything, he wanted to get Cas fully naked and take as long as he could, mapping out every inch of skin with his hands and mouth and teeth. He wanted to see what kind of filthy noises and low curses he could pull from his former angel, to find out if he’d beg for it if Dean teased him long enough, or if he’d simply take what he wanted. As Dean thought about it, he didn’t know which he liked the thought of more.

Dean wanted all of that, but they didn’t have time, not tonight. The feeling coursing through his veins was the same one he got after a rough hunt, hitting the bars and starting a fight when he could find it, needing to feel the burn of whiskey and the sting of scraped knuckles. Except tonight, he just wanted Cas; his fingers tugging at his hair, his nails biting into his skin.  

He managed to get Cas’ pants down, just enough to get his dick out, already hard and hot when he took it in his hand. The gasp that Cas let out at the touch was nothing compared to the one he made when Dean leaned down and licked at the tip. 

Though he was obviously very familiar with receiving, Dean had never actually sucked a guy off before. But he wasn’t nervous to try, not when the thought of it had been in his head for longer than he wanted to admit. Not when he thought that he’d never get the chance to.

He licked and swirled at the head a little longer, the taste of precome tart on his tongue. There was a slight shift beneath him, and Dean glanced up to make sure he hadn’t done anything wrong, but Cas had just lifted himself up his elbows to watch, throat bobbing as he swallowed heavily. Looking at him through the thick fringe of his lashes, Dean sank down, taking him into his mouth without any warning.

Cas cried out, tossing his head back against the car door, thighs trembling and hips lifting slightly, pressing deeper into the warmth of Dean’s mouth. 

It was a bit clumsy and messy, spit slicking down Cas’ length and obscene wet sounds filling the car as Dean tried to find a good rhythm, but when Cas reached down to twist his fingers in his hair, moaning his name breathlessly, it couldn’t have felt better. He couldn’t help but work his free hand down to rub at his own aching erection through his jeans, groaning around Cas’ dick as he did. 

He learned what Cas liked, crying out when Dean sucked hard or tongued at the slit on the head of his dick, or gasping and whimpering when he took him as deep as he could. Every time Dean pulled another sound out of him, the arousal in his gut twisted a little tighter.

Once he could tell that Cas was close, dripping salty precome onto the back of his tongue and throbbing where his hand was gripping the base, he pulled off, stretching up to mouth at Cas’ neck and work his spit-slick dick with his hand. 

Cas’ fingers were still buried on his hair and he tugged, tilting Dean’s face up so he could slot their mouths together, half kissing, half panting against him.

“I can’t stand seeing you like this,” Dean murmured against his lips, rawly honest and kissing him fiercely. “The things it does to me…” He ground his raging erection into Cas’ hip to show him exactly what it did to him. 

A noise caught in Cas’ throat and he came a second later, hips twitching off of the seat and spilling all over Dean’s hand. He looked so beautiful — he always did — but it was a different sort of breathtaking like this. 

It took Dean no time to finish as well, fucking into Cas’ rough hand after he impatiently yanked his jeans and underwear down in one move. He was already too close after that, and when Cas’ free hand slipped under Dean’s shirt to scrape careful nails down his chest, catching on his nipple, lightning shot down his spine.

He orgasmed with Cas’ fingers tight around him, his hot mouth sucking marks at the sweaty hollow of his throat, whispering Dean’s name into his skin like it was a precious secret. 

Afterward, sweaty and sticky and all sorts of tired, Cas laughed, pulling his legs up to make room for Dean to collapse on the seat.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, propping open the door to let some cool, fresh air in. It smelled like sex and smoke, and the windows were fogged up like some cheesy porno. 

Outside, the house was completely engulfed in flames, ash raining down like flakes of snow. It was eerily beautiful.

“Nothing,” Cas responded, lounging back and looking deliciously disheveled. “I was just wondering if I still get to take you to dinner? I didn’t find Daniel’s bones but I did technically torch them.”

Dean held back a grin. “I dunno,” he said seriously. “I did say you had to find them.”

He caught Cas’ foot that he kicked at him halfheartedly, cracking and huffing out a laugh at his petulant expression. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before the cops show up. We can talk about dinner in the morning.”

 

—————-

 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked early the next morning, while they were still in bed and Cas’ face was resting on his shoulder. He’d think he was asleep from the relaxed, even rise and fall of his ribs, if it wasn’t for the gentle fingers tracing scars scattered across his bare torso.

Cas made an inquisitive sounding hum against his skin. 

There were too many half-formed thoughts that had been sitting on Dean’s tongue for a while now. Too many things he’d been yearning to tell Cas, to finally let the words live and breathe in the air between them.

_ We’re going to be okay. I’m happiest with you by my side. I believe in us. _

_ I love you.  _

Instead, he just said, “Let’s stay in bed for a bit. So I can get some pie on the way outta town.”

“Of course, Dean.”

Something about the way he said it and the accompanying smile Dean felt curl against his shoulder, made him think that Cas knew what it was that Dean had really wanted to say.

They stayed in bed for another hour or two, until Cas’ stomach growled and Dean made him get up. Grabbing breakfast sounded like a great idea before getting some pie to go and hitting the road.

Dean’s phone rang as he was lacing up his boots, fumbling with the knot as he shamelessly watched Cas get dressed.

“Yeah?”

“Hey,” Sam answered, tone slightly apologetic. “I know you guys were planning on heading home this morning but I’ve got a case-”   


Dean interrupted, eyes still locked on Cas as he bent over to grab his jeans from his bag. “Call me back in two hours.”

There was no sound from the other end of the line but Dean could still hear Sam’s surprise.

“Listen,” he said. “Cas and I are going to grab some breakfast and take two hours to ourselves.  _ Two hours _ , Sammy. That’s all I want. Text me or email me everything right now if you have to, but I’m not checking my phone until-” He squinted at the clock. “Ten seventeen. Got it?”

From across the room, Cas was looking at him in concern but Dean waved him off. 

Finally, Sam said, “Yeah, of course. Enjoy your breakfast. And your alone time with Cas… should I even ask what-”

“Bye.” Dean hung up before Sam could say anything else, hating the smug, knowing tone of his voice. 

Shrugging on a worn gray t-shirt, Cas furrowed his brows. “Do we need to leave now?”

“Nope.” And he meant it. He and Sam had hit traffic or had to take a detour that added on a few hours to their trip before; if he wanted to take one morning to get some breakfast with Cas, he was going to do it. 

They finished getting dressed and packing up the last of their things, loading them into Baby’s trunk. While Cas went and checked out with the front desk, Dean crossed the parking lot to grab him a hot chocolate and a coffee for himself. It was the same girl as the other morning so he gave her a big tip and a charming smile to start her morning off right.

Cas climbed into the car a minute later. “Are you sure we-”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m going to take you to get a nice, hot breakfast before we’re stuck on the road for the next two days, eating nothing but peanuts and gas station burritos.” Dean arched a brow as Cas frowned at the thought. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound good.”

He sighed in defeat, blue eyes fondly exasperated. “I thought I was the one taking you to eat.”

“Hey now.” Dean pulled out of their parking spot slowly, rolling towards the street. “Breakfast and dinner are totally different. I’m not stealing your thunder here, I just really want a plate of eggs and greasy hash browns. Mmmmh, and bacon. Lots of bacon.”

Cas considered for a second, gazing out the window. “I think I’d also like eggs,” he told Dean, seeming satisfied with this decision. “But with toast and honey.”

They’d been sitting there for a second, right side blinker clicking steadily, waiting for a break in the cars on the road. A thought struck Dean after Cas spoke and he quickly switched blinkers.

“Actually,” he told Cas, already smiling at the thought of the excited look on Cas’ face when they pulled up to the store and he first noticed the big wooden bee above the shop door. “I have somewhere to take you before we grab breakfast.”

He looked intrigued, peering out the windshield like he’d be able to see where they were going. 

As Dean pulled onto the road, hoping the honey shop was open this early, his phone buzzed in his pocket. But he just ignored it, reaching across the seat and taking Cas’ hand in his instead. 


End file.
